THE  FREELANDS 


THE  FREELANDS 


BY 


JOHN    GALSWORTHY 


"Liberty's  a  glorious  feast." 
— BURNS. 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1915 


COPTMGHT,  IQIS,  BY 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
Published  August,  1915 


TO 

BARBARA  AND  JOHN  LAWRENCE  HAMMOND 


43783C! 


THE  FREELANDS 

"Liberty's  a  glorious  feast." — Burns. 

PROLOGUE 

ONE  early  April  afternoon,  in  a  Worcestershire 
field,  the  only  field  in  that  immediate  landscape 
which  was  not  down  in  grass,  a  man  moved  slowly 
athwart  the  furrows,  sowing — a  big  man  of  heavy 
build,  swinging  his  hairy  brown  arm  with  the  grace 
of  strength.  He  wore  no  coat  or  hat;  a  waistcoat, 
open  over  a  blue-checked  cotton  shirt,  flapped 
against  belted  corduroys  that  were  somewhat  the 
color  of  his  square,  pale-brown  face  and  dusty  hair. 
His  eyes  were  sad,  with  the  swimming  yet  fixed 
stare  of  epileptics;  his  mouth  heavy-lipped,  so 
that,  but  for  the  yearning  eyes,  the  face  would  have 
been  almost  brutal.  He  looked  as  if  he  suffered 
from  silence.  The  elm-trees  bordering  the  field, 
though  only  just  in  leaf,  showed  dark  against  a 
white  sky.  A  light  wind  blew,  carrying  already  a 
scent  from  the  earth  and  growth  pushing  up,  for 
the  year  was  early.  The  green  Malvern  hills  rose 
in  the  west;  and  not  far  away,  shrouded  by  trees, 
a  long  country  house  of  weathered  brick  faced  to 
the  south.  Save  for  the  man  sowing,  and  some 
rooks  crossing  from  elm  to  elm,  no  life  was  visible 
in  all  the  green  land.  And  it  was  quiet — with  a 


THE  FREELANDS 

a  brooding  tranquillity.  The  fields  and 
hills  seemed  to  mock  the  scars  of  road  and  ditch 
and  furrow  scraped  on  them,  to  mock  at  barriers 
of  hedge  and  wall — between  the  green  land  and 
white  sky  was  a  conspiracy  to  disregard  those  small 
activities.  So  lonely  was  it,  so  plunged  in  a  ground- 
bass  of  silence;  so  much  too  big  and  permanent 
for  any  figure  of  man. 

Across  and  across  the  brown  loam  the  laborer 
doggedly  finished  out  his  task;  scattered  the  few 
last  seeds  into  a  corner,  and  stood  still.  Thrushes 
and  blackbirds  were  just  beginning  that  even-song 
whose  blitheness,  as  nothing  else  on  earth,  seems 
to  promise  youth  forever  to  the  land.  He  picked 
up  his  coat,  slung  it  on,  and,  heaving  a  straw  bag 
over  his  shoulder,  walked  out  on  to  the  grass-bor- 
dered road  between  the  elms. 

"Tryst!    Bob  Tryst !" 

At  the  gate  of  a  creepered  cottage  amongst  fruit- 
trees,  high  above  the  road,  a  youth  with  black  hair 
and  pale-brown  face  stood  beside  a  girl  with  frizzy 
brown  hair  and  cheeks  like  poppies. 

"Have  you  had  that  notice?" 

The  laborer  answered  slowly: 

"Yes,  Mr.  Derek.     If  she  don't  go,  I've  got  to." 

"What  a  d— d  shame!" 

The  laborer  moved  his  head,  as  though  he  would 
have  spoken,  but  no  words  came. 

"Don't  do  anything,  Bob.     Well  see  about  that." 

"Evenin',  Mr.  Derek.  Evenin',  Miss  Sheila," 
and  the  laborer  moved  on. 


THE  FREELANDS  3 

The  two  at  the  wicket  gate  also  turned  away. 
A  black-haired  woman  dressed  in  blue  came  to  the 
wicket  gate  in  their  place.  There  seemed  no  pur- 
pose in  her  standing  there;  it  was  perhaps  an 
evening  custom,  some  ceremony  such  as  Moslems 
observe  at  the  muezzin-call.  And  any  one  who 
saw  her  would  have  wondered  what  on  earth  she 
might  be  seeing,  gazing  out  with  her  dark  glowing 
eyes  above  the  white,  grass-bordered  roads  stretch- 
ing empty  this  way  and  that  between  the  elm-trees 
and  green  fields;  while  the  blackbirds  and  thrushes 
shouted  out  their  hearts,  calling  all  to  witness  how 
hopeful  and  young  was  life  in  this  English  coun- 
tryside. .  .  . 


CHAPTER  I 

MAYDAY  afternoon  in  Oxford  Street,  and  Felix 
Freeland,  a  little  late,  on  his  way  from  Hampstead 
to  his  brother  John's  house  in  Porchester  Gardens. 
Felix  Freeland,  author,  wearing  the  very  first  gray 
top  hat  of  the  season.  A  compromise,  that — like 
many  other  things  in  his  life  and  works — between 
individuality  and  the  accepted  view  of  things,  aes- 
theticism  and  fashion,  the  critical  sense  and  author- 
icy.  After  the  meeting  at  John's,  to  discuss  the 
doings  of  the  family  of  his  brother  Morton  Free- 
land — better  known  as  Tod — he  would  perhaps  look 
in  on  the  caricatures  at  the  English  Gallery,  and 
visit  one  duchess  in  Mayfair,  concerning  the  George 
Richard  Memorial.  And  so,  not  the  soft  felt  hat 
which  really  suited  authorship,  nor  the  black  top 
hat  which  obliterated  personality  to  the  point  of 
pain,  but  this  gray  thing  with  narrowish  black  band, 
very  suitable,  in  truth,  to  a  face  of  a  pale  buff 
color,  to  a  moustache  of  a  deep  buff  color  streaked 
with  a  few  gray  hairs,  to  a  black  braided  coat  cut 
away  from  a  buff-colored  waistcoat,  to  his  neat 
boots — not  patent  leather — faintly  buffed  with  May- 
day dust.  Even  his  eyes,  Freeland  gray,  were  a 
little  buffed  over  by  sedentary  habit,  and  the  num- 
ber of  things  that  he  was  conscious  of.  For  in- 

4 


THE  FREELANDS  5 

stance,  that  the  people  passing  him  were  distress- 
ingly plain,  both  men  and  women;  plain  with  the 
particular  plainness  of  those  quite  unaware  of  it. 
It  struck  him  forcibly,  while  he  went  along,  how 
very  queer  it  was  that  with  so  many  plain  people 
in  the  country,  the  population  managed  to  keep  up 
even  as  well  as  it  did.  To  his  wonderfully  keen 
sense  of  defect,  it  seemed  little  short  of  marvellous. 
A  shambling,  shoddy  crew,  this  crowd  of  shoppers 
and  labor  demonstrators!  A  conglomeration  of 
hopelessly  mediocre  visages !  What  was  to  be  done 
about  it  ?  Ah !  what  indeed ! — since  they  were  evi- 
dently not  aware  of  their  own  dismal  mediocrity. 
Hardly  a  beautiful  or  a  vivid  face,  hardly  a  wicked 
one,  never  anything  transfigured,  passionate,  ter- 
rible, or  grand.  Nothing  Greek,  early  Italian,  Eliz- 
abethan, not  even  beefy,  beery,  broad  old  Georgian. 
Something  clutched-in,  and  squashed-out  about  it 
all — on  that  collective  face  something  of  the  look  of 
a  man  almost  comfortably  and  warmly  wrapped  j 
round  by  a  snake  at  the  very  beginning  of  its  squeeze. 
It  gave  Felix  Freeland  a  sort  of  faint  excitement  and 
pleasure  to  notice  this.  For  it  was  his  business  to 
notice  things,  and  embalm  them  afterward  in  ink. 
And  he  believed  that  not  many  people  noticed  it, 
so  that  it  contributed  in  his  mind  to  his  own  dis- 
tinction, which  was  precious  to  him.  Precious,  and 
encouraged  to  be  so  by  the  press,  which — as  he  well 
knew — must  print  his  name  several  thousand  times 
a  year.  And  yet,  as  a  man  of  culture  and  of  prin- 
ciple, how  he  despised  that  kind  of  fame,  and  theo- 


6  THE  FREELANDS 

retically  believed  that  a  man's  real  distinction  lay 
in  his  oblivion  of  the  world's  opinion,  particularly 
as  expressed  by  that  flighty  creature,  the  Fourth 
Estate.  But  here  again,  as  in  the  matter  of  the 
gray  top  hat,  he  had  instinctively  compromised, 
taking  in  press  cuttings  which  described  himself  and 
his  works,  while  he  never  failed  to  describe  those 
descriptions — good,  bad,  and  indifferent — as  'that 
stuff/  and  their  writers  as  '  those  fellows.' 

Not  that  it  was  new  to  him  to  feel  that  the  coun- 
try was  in  a  bad  way.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  his 
established  belief,  and  one  for  which  he  was  pre- 
pared to  furnish  due  and  proper  reasons.  In  the 
first  place  he  traced  it  to  the  horrible  hold  Indus- 
trialism had  in  the  last  hundred  years  laid  on  the 
nation,  draining  the  peasantry  from  'the  Land'; 
and  in  the  second  place  to  the  influence  of  a  narrow 
and  insidious  Officialism,  sapping  the  independence 
of  the  People. 

This  was  why,  in  going  to  a  conclave  with  his 
brother  John,  high  in  Government  employ,  and  his 
brother  Stanley,  a  captain  of  industry,  possessor  of 
the  Morton  Plough  Works,  he  was  conscious  of  a 
certain  superiority  in  that  he,  at  all  events,  had  no 
hand  in  this  paralysis  which  was  creeping  on  the 
country. 

And  getting  more  buff-colored  every  minute,  'he 
threaded  his  way  on,  till,  past  the  Marble  Arch, 
he  secured  the  elbow-room  of  Hyde  Park.  Here 
groups  of  young  men,  with  chivalrous  idealism,  were 
jeering  at  and  chivying  the  broken  remnants  of  a 


THE  FREELANDS  7 

suffrage  meeting.  Felix  debated  whether  he  should 
oppose  his  body  to  their  bodies,  his  tongue  to 
theirs,  or  whether  he  should  avert  his  conscious- 
ness and  hurry  on;  but,  that  instinct  which  moved 
him  to  wear  the  gray  top  hat  prevailing,  he  did 
neither,  and  stood  instead,  looking  at  them  in  silent 
anger,  which  quickly  provoked  endearments — such 
as:  "Take  it  off,"  or  "Keep  it  on,"  or  "What 
cheer,  Toppy!"  but  nothing  more  acute.  And  he 
meditated :  Culture !  Could  culture  ever  make 
headway  among  the  blind  partisanships,  the  hand- 
to-mouth  mentality,  the  cheap  excitements  of  this 
town  life?  The  faces  of  these  youths,  the  tone  of 
their  voices,  the  very  look  of  their  bowler  hats, 
said :  No !  You  could  not  culturalize  the  imper- 
meable texture  of  their  vulgarity.  And  they  were 
the  coming  manhood  of  the  nation — this  inexpress- 
ibly distasteful  lot  of  youths !  The  country  had 
indeed  got  too  far  away  from  'the  Land/  And 
this  essential  towny  commonness  was  not  confined 
to  the  classes  from  which  these  youths  were  drawn. 
He  had  even  remarked  it  among  his  own  son's 
school  and  college  friends — an  impatience  of  dis- 
cipline, an  insensibility  to  everything  but  excite- 
ment and  having  a  good  time,  a  permanent  mental 
indigestion  due  to  a  permanent  diet  of  tit-bits. 
What  aspiration  they  possessed  seemed  devoted  to 
securing  for  themselves  the  plums  of  official  or  in- 
dustrial life.  His  boy  Alan,  even,  was  infected,  in 
spite  of  home  influences  and  the  atmosphere  of  art 
in  which  he  had  been  so  sedulously  soaked.  He 


8  THE  FREELANDS 

wished  to  enter  his  Uncle  Stanley's  plough  works, 
seeing  in  it  a  'soft  thing.' 

But  the  last  of  the  woman-baiters  had  passed  by 
now,  and,  conscious  that  he  was  really  behind  time, 
Felix  hurried  on.  .  .  . 

In  his  study — a  pleasant  room,  if  rather  tidy — 
John  Freeland  was  standing  before  the  fire  smoking 
a  pipe  and  looking  thoughtfully  at  nothing.  He 
was,  in  fact,  thinking,  with  that  continuity  char- 
acteristic of  a  man  who  at  fifty  has  won  for  him- 
self a  place  of  permanent  importance  in  the  Home 
Office.  Starting  life  in  the  Royal  Engineers,  he 
still  preserved  something  of  a  military  look  about 
his  figure,  and  grave  visage  with  steady  eyes 
and  drooping  moustache  (both  a  shade  grayer  than 
those  of  Felix),  and  a  forehead  bald  from  justness 
and  knowing  where  to  lay  his  hand  on  papers. 
,  His  face  was  thinner,  his  head  narrower,  than  his 
i  brother's,  and  he  had  acquired  a  way  of  making 
those  he  looked  at  doubt  themselves  and  feel  the 
sudden  instability  of  all  their  facts.  He  was — as 
has  been  said — thinking.  His  brother  Stanley  had 
wired  to  him  that  morning :  "Am  motoring  up  to-day 
on  business;  can  you  get  Felix  to  come  at  six  o'clock 
and  talk  over  the  position  at  Tod's?"  What  posi- 
tion at  Tod's?  He  had  indeed  heard  something 
vague — of  those  youngsters  of  Tod's,  and  some  fuss 
they  were  making  about  the  laborers  down  there. 
He  had  not  liked  it.  Too  much  of  a  piece  with  the 
general  unrest,  and  these  new  democratic  ideas  that 


THE  FREELANDS  9 

were  playing  old  Harry  with  the  country !  For  in 
his  opinion  the  country  was  in  a  bad  way,  partly 
owing  to  Industrialism,  with  its  rotting  effect  upon 
physique;  partly  to  this  modern  analytic  Intellec- 
tualism,  with  its  destructive  and  anarchic  influence 
on  morals.  It  was  difficult  to  overestimate  the  mis- 
chief of  those  two  factors;  and  in  the  approaching 
conference  with  his  brothers,  onejaf  whom  was  the 
head  of  an  industrial  undertaking,  and  the  other  a 
writer,  whose  books,  extremely  modern,  he  never 
read,  he  was  perhaps  vaguely  conscious  of  his  own 
cleaner  hands.  Hearing  a  car  come  to  a  halt  out- 
side, he  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  Yes, 
it  was  Stanley !  .  .  . 

Stanley  Freeland,  who  had  motored  up  from 
Becket — his  country  place,  close  to  his  plough  works 
in  Worcestershire — stood  a  moment  on  the  pave- 
ment, stretching  his  long  legs  and  giving  directions 
to  his  chauffeur.  He  had  been  stopped  twice  on 
the  road  for  not-exceeding  the  limit  as  he  believed, 
and  was  still  a  little  ruffled.  Was  it  not  his  invari- 
able principle  to  be  moderate  in  speed  as  in  all 
other  things?  And  his  feeling  at  the  moment  was 
stronger  even  than  usual,  that  the  country  was  in 
a  bad  way,  eaten  up  by  officialism,  with  its  absurd 
limitations  of  speed  and  the  liberty  of  the  subject, 
and  the  advanced  ideas  of  these  new  writers  and 
intellectuals,  always  talking  about  the  rights  and 
sufferings  of  the  poor.  There  was  no  progress  along 
either  of  those  roads.  He  had  it  in  his  heart,  as 


io  THE  FREELANDS 

lie  stood  there  on  the  pavement,  to  say  something 
pretty  definite  to  John  about  interference  with  the 
liberty  of  the  subject,  and  he  wouldn't  mind  giving 
old  Felix  a  rap  about  his  precious  destructive  doc- 
trines, and  continual  girding  at  the  upper  classes, 
vested  interests,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  If  he  had 
something  to  put  in  their  place  that  would  be  an- 
other matter.  Capital  and  those  who  controlled  it 
were  the  backbone  of  the  country — what  there  was 
left  of  the  country,  apart  from  these  d — d  officials 
and  aesthetic  fellows !  And  with  a  contraction  of 
his  straight  eyebrows  above  his  straight  gray  eyes, 
straight  blunt  nose,  blunter  moustaches,  and  blunt 
chin,  he  kept  a  tight  rein  on  his  blunt  tongue,  not 
choosing  to  give  way  even  to  his  own  anger. 

Then,  perceiving  Felix  coming — '  in  a  white  topper, 
by  Jove!' — he  crossed  the  pavement  to  the  door; 
and,  tall,  square,  personable,  rang  the  bell. 


CHAPTER  II 

"WELL,  what's  the  matter  at  Tod's?" 
And  Felix  moved  a  little  forward  in  his  chair, 
his  eyes  fixed  with  interest  on  Stanley,  who  was 
about  to  speak. 

"It's  that  wife  of  his,  of  course.  It  was  all  very 
well  so  long  as  she  confined  herself  to  writing,  and 
talk,  and  that  Land  Society,  or  whatever  it  was  she 
founded,  the  one  that  snuffed  out  the  other  day;  but 
now  she's  getting  herself  and  those  two  youngsters 
mixed  up  in  our  local  broils,  and  really  I  think 
Tod's  got  to  be  spoken  to." 

"It's  impossible  for  a  husband  to  interfere  with 
his  wife's  principles."  So  Felix. 

"Principles !"    The  word  came  from  John.  / 

"  Certainly !    Kirsteen's  a  woman  of  great  char- 
acter; revolutionary  by  temperament.     Why  should 
you  expect  her  to  act  as  you  would  act  yourselves?" 
When  Felix  had  said  that,  there  was  a  silence. 
Then  Stanley  muttered:   "Poor  old  Tod!" 
Felix  sighed,  lost  for  a  moment  in  his  last  vision 
of  his  youngest  brother.     It  was  four  years  ago 
now,  a  summer  evening — Tod  standing  between  his 
youngsters  Derek  and  Sheila,  in  a  doorway  of  his 
white,  black-timbered,  creepered  cottage,  his  sun- 
burnt face  and  blue  eyes  the  serenest  things  one  could 
see  in  a  day's  march ! 

\ 


12  THE  FREELANDS 

"Why  'poor'?"  he  said.  "Tod's  much  happier 
than  we  are.  You've  only  to  look  at  him." 

"Ah!"  said  Stanley  suddenly.  "D'you  remem- 
ber him  at  Father's  funeral  ? — without  his  hat,  and 
his  head  in  the  clouds.  Fine-lookin'  chap,  old  Tod 
• — pity  he's  such  a  child  of  Nature." 

Felix  said  quietly: 

"If  you'd  offered  him  a  partnership,  Stanley — it 
would  have  been  the  making  of  him." 

"Tod  in  the  plough  works?    My  hat!" 

Felix  smiled.  At  sight  of  that  smile,  Stanley 
grew  red,  and  John  refilled  his  pipe.  It  is  always 
the  devil  to  have  a  brother  more  sarcastic  than 
oneself ! 

"How  old  are  those  two?"  John  said  abruptly. 

"Sheila's  twenty,  Derek  nineteen." 

"I  thought  the  boy  was  at  an  agricultural  col- 
lege?" 

"Finished." 

"What's  he  like?" 

"A  black-haired,  fiery  fellow,  not  a  bit  like  Tod." 

John  muttered:  "That's  her  Celtic  blood.  Her 
father,  old  Colonel  Moray,  was  just  that  sort; 
by  George,  he  was  a  regular  black  Highlander. 
What's  the  trouble  exactly?" 

It  was  Stanley  who  answered:  "That  sort  of 
agitation  business  is  all  very  well  until  it  begins 
to  affect  your  neighbors;  then  it's  time  it  stopped. 
You  know  the  Mallorings  who  own  all  the  land 
round  Tod's.  Well,  they've  fallen  foul  of  the  Mal- 
lorings over  what  they  call  injustice  to  some  la- 


THE  FREELANDS  13 

borers.  Questions  of  morality  involved.  I  don't 
know  all  the  details.  A  man's  got  notice  to  quit 
over  his  deceased  wife's  sister;  and  some  girl  or 
other  in  another  cottage  has  kicked  over — just  or- 
dinary country  incidents.  What  I  want  is  that  Tod 
should  be  made  to  see  that  his  family  mustn't 
quarrel  with  his  nearest  neighbors  in  this  way.  We 
know  the  Mallorings  well,  they're  only  seven  miles 
from  us  at  Becket.  It  doesn't  do;  sooner  or  later 
it  plays  the  devil  all  round.  And  the  air's  full  of 
agitation  about  the  laborers  and  'the  Land/  and 
all  the  rest  of  it — only  wants  a  spark  to  make  real 
trouble." 

And  having  finished  this,  oration,  Stanley  thrust 
his  hands  deep  into  his  pockets,  and  jingled  the 
money  that  was  there. 

John  said  abruptly: 

"Felix,  you'd  better  go  down." 

Felix  was  sitting  back,  his  eyes  for  once  with- 
drawn from  his  brothers'  faces. 

"Odd,"  he  said,  "really  odd,  that  with  a  per- 
fectly unique  person  like  Tod  for  a  brother,  we 
only  see  him  once  in  a  blue  moon." 

"It's  because  he  is  so  d — d  unique." 

Felix  got  up  and  gravely  extended  his  hand  to 
Stanley. 

"By  Jove,"  he  said,  "you've  spoken  truth." 
And  to  John  he  added:  "Well,  I  will  go,  and  let 
you  know  the  upshot." 

When  he  had  departed,  the  two  elder  brothers  re- 
mained for  some  moments  silent,  then  Stanley  said: 


14  THE  FREELANDS 

"Old  FeHx  is  a  bit  tryin' !  With  the  fuss  they 
make  of  him  in  the  papers,  his  head's  swelled !" 

John  did  not  answer.  One  could  not  in  so  many 
words  resent  one's  own  brother  being  made  a  fuss 
of,  and  if  it  had  been  for  something jpgal.  such  as 
discovering  the  source  of  the  Black  River,  con- 
quering Bechuanaland,  curing  Blue-mange,  or  being 
made  a  Bishop,  he  would  have  been  the  first  and 
most  loyal  in  his  appreciation;  but  for  the  sort  of 
thing  Felix  made  up — Fiction,  and  critical,  acid, 
destructive  sort  of  stuff,  pretending  to  show  John 
Freeland_things  that  he  hadn't  seen  before — as  if 
Felix  could ! — not  at  all  the  jolly  old  romance  which 
one  could  read  well  enough  and  enjoy  till  it  sent 
you  to  sleep  after  a  good  day's  work.  No !  that 
Felix  should  be  made  a  fuss  of  for  such  work  as 
that  really  almost  hurt  him.  It  was  not  quite  de- 
cent, violating  deep  down  one's  sense  of  form,  one's 
sense  of  health,  one's  traditions.  Though  he  would 
not  have  admitted  it,  he  secretly  felt,  too,  that 
this  fuss  was  dangerous  to  his  own  point  of  view, 
which  was,  of  course,  to  him  the  only  real  one. 
And  he  merely  said: 

"Will  you  stay  to  dinner,  Stan?" 


CHAPTER  III 

IF  John  had  those  sensations  about  Felix,  so — 
when  he  was  away  from  John — had  Felix  about 
himself.  He  had  never  quite  grown  out  of  the  feel- 
ing that  to  make  himself  conspicuous  in  any  way 
was  bad  form.  In  common  with  his  three  brothers 
he  had  been  through  the  mills  of  gentility — those 
unique  grinding  machines  of  education  only  found 
in  his  native  land.  Tod,  to  be  sure,  had  been 
publicly  sacked  at  the  end  of  his  third  term,  for 
climbing  on  to  the  headmaster's  roof  and  filling  up 
two  of  his  chimneys  with  football  pants,  from  which 
he  had  omitted  to  remove  his  name.  Felix  still 
remembered  the  august  scene — the  horrid  thrill  of 
it,  the  ominous  sound  of  that:  "Freeland  mini- 
mus!" the  ominous  sight  of  poor  little  Tod  emerg- 
ing from  his  obscurity  near  the  roof  of  the  Speech 
Room,  and  descending  all  those  steps.  How  very 
small  and  rosy  he  had  looked,  his  bright  hair  stand- 
ing on  end,  and  his  little  blue  eyes  staring  up  very 
hard  from  under  a  troubled  frown.  And  the  au- 
gust hand  holding  up  those  sooty  pants,  and  the 
august  voice:  "These  appear  to  be  yours,  Freeland 
minimus.  Were  you  so  good  as  to  put  them  down 
my  chimneys?"  And  the  little  piping,  "Yes,  sir." 

"May  I  ask  why,  Freeland  minimus?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir." 

is 


1 6  THE  FREELANDS 

"You  must  have  had  some  reason,  Freeland 
minimus  ?  " 

"It  was  the  end  of  term,  sir." 

"Ah!  You  must  not  come  back  here,  Freeland 
minimus.  You  are  too  dangerous,  to  yourself,  and 
others.  Go  to  your  place." 

And  poor  little  Tod  ascending  again  all  those 
steps,  cheeks  more  terribly  rosy  than  ever,  eyes 
bluer,  from  under  a  still  more  troubled  frown;  little 
mouth  hard  set;  and  breathing  so  that  you  could 
hear  him  six  forms  off.  True,  the  new  Head  had 
been  goaded  by  other  outrages,  the  authors  of  which 
had  not  omitted  to  remove  their  names;  .  but  the 
want  of  humor,  the  amazing  want  of  humor !  As 
if  it  had  not  been  a  sign  of  first-rate  stuff  in  Tod ! 
And  to  this  day  Felix  remembered  with  delight 
the  little  bubbling  hiss  that  he  himself  had  started, 
squelched  at  once,  but  rippling  out  again  along  the 
rows  like  tiny  scattered  lines  of  fire  when  a  con- 
flagration is  suppressed.  Expulsion  had  been  the 
salvation  of  Tod !  Or — his  damnation  ?  Which  ? 
God  would  know,  but  Felix  was  not  certain.  Hav- 
ing himself  been  fifteen  years  acquiring  'MilT  phi- 
losophy, and  another  fifteen  years  getting  rid  of  it, 
he  had  now  begun  to  think  that  after  all  there 
might  be  something  in  it.  A  philosophy  that  took 
everything,  including  itself,  at  face  value,  and  ques- 
tioned nothing,  was  sedative  to  nerves  too  highly 
strung  by  the  continual  examination  of  the  insides 
of  oneself  and  others,  with  a  view  to  their  altera- 
tion. Tod,  of  course,  having  been  sent  to  Germany 


THE  FREELANDS  17 

'after  his  expulsion,  as  one  naturally  would  be,  and 
then  put  to  farming,  had  never  properly  acquired 
'Mill'  manner,  and  never  sloughed  it  off;  and  yet 
he  was  as  sedative  a  man  as  you  could  meet. 

Emerging  from  the  Tube  station  at  Hampstead, 
he  moved  toward  home  under  a  sky  stranger  than 
one  might  see  in  a  whole  year  of  evenings.  Be- 
tween the  pine-trees  on  the  ridge  it  was  opaque 
and  colored  like  pinkish  stone,  and  all  around  vio- 
lent purple  with  flames  of  the  young  green,  and 
white  spring  blossom  lit  against  it.  Spring  had 
been  dull  and  unimaginative  so  far,  but  this  eve- 
ning it  was  all  fire  and  gathered  torrents;  Felix 
wondered  at  the  waiting  passion  of  that  sky. 

He  reached  home  just  as  those  torrents  began  to 
fall. 

The  old  house,  beyond  the  Spaniard's  Road,  save 
for  mice  and  a  faint  underlying  savor  of  wood-rot . 
in   two   rooms,   well   satisfied    the   aesthetic   sense. 
Felix  often  stood  in  his  hall,  study,  bedroom,  and 
other   apartments,   admiring   the   rich   and   simple 
glow   of   them — admiring   the   rarity   and  look  of 
studied  negligence  about  the  stuffs,  the  flowers,  the 
books,   the  furniture,   the  china;    and   then  quite 
suddenly  the  feeling  would  sweep  over  him:    "By 
George,  do  I  really  own  all  this,  when  my  ideal  is 
'  bread  and  water,  and  on  feast  days  a  little  bit  of 
cheese7?"     True,  he  was  not  to  blame  for  the  nice-  / 
ness  of  his  things — Flora  did  it;    but  still — there  {  , 
they  were,  a  little  hard  to  swallow  for  an  epicurean. 
It  might,  of  course,  have  been  worse,  for  if  Flora 


1 8  THE  FREELANDS 

/had  a  passion  for  collecting,  it  was  a  very  chaste 
one,  and  though  what  she  collected  cost  no  little 
money,  it  always  looked  as  if  it  had  been  inherited, 
and — as  everybody  knows — what  has  been  inherited 
must  be  put  up  with,  whether  it  be  a  coronet  or 
a  cruet-stand. 

To  collect  old  things,  and  write  poetry !    It  was 
a  career;   one  would  not  have  one's  wife  otherwise. 

/She  might,  for  instance,  have  been  like  Stanley's 
wife,  Clara,  whose  career  was  wealth  and  station; 
or  John's  wife,  Anne,  whose  career  had  been  cut 
short;  or  even  Tod's  wife,  Kirsteen,  whose  career 
was  revolution.  No — a  wife  who  had  two,  and 
only  two  children,  and  treated  them  with  affection- 
ate surprise,  who  was  never  out  of  temper,  never 
in  a  hurry,  knew  the  points  of  a  book  or  play,  could 
cut  your  hair  at  a  pinch;  whose  hand  was  dry, 
figure  still  good,  verse  tolerable,  and — above  all— 
who  wished  for  no  better  fate  than  Fate  had  given 
her — was  a  wife  not  to  be  sneezed  at.  And  Felix 
never  had.  He  had  depicted  so  many  sneezing 
wives  and  husbands  in  his  books,  and  knew  the 
value  of  a  happy  marriage  better  perhaps  than  any 
one  in  England.  He  had  laid  marriage  low  a  dozen 
times,  wrecked  it  on  all  sorts  of  rocks,  and  had  the 
greater  veneration  for  his  own,  which  had  begun  early, 
manifested  every  symptom  of  ending  late,  and  in 
the  meantime  walked  down  the  years  holding  hands 
fast,  and  by  no  means  forgetting  to  touch  lips. 

Hanging  up  the  gray  top  hat,  he  went  in  search 
of  her.     He  found  her  in  his  dressing-room,  sur- 


THE  FREELANDS  19 

rounded  by  a  number  of  little  bottles,  which  she 
was  examining  vaguely,  and  putting  one  by  one 
into  an  ' inherited'  waste-paper  basket.  Having 
watched  her  for  a  little  while  with  a  certain  plea- 
sure, he  said: 

" Yes,  my  dear?" 

Noticing  his  presence,  and  continuing  to  put 
bottles  into  the  basket,  she  answered: 

"I  thought  I  must — they're  what  dear  Mother's 
given  us." 

There  they  lay — little  bottles  filled  with  white 
and  brown  fluids,  white  and  blue  and  brown  powders; 
green  and  brown  and  yellow  ointments;  black  loz- 
enges; buff  plasters;  blue  and  pink  and  purple 
pills.  All  beautifully  labelled  and  corked. 

And  he  said  in  a  rather  faltering  voice: 

"Bless  her !  How  she  does  give  her  things  away ! 
Haven't  we  used  any?" 

"Not  one.  And  they  have  to  be  cleared  away 
before  they're  stale,  for  fear  we  might  take  one  by 
mistake." 

"Poor  Mother!" 

"My  dear,  she's  found  something  newer  than 
them  all  by  now." 

Felix  sighed. 

"The  nomadic  spirit.     I  have  it,  too !" 

And  a  sudden  vision  came  to  him  of  his  mother's 
carved  ivory  face,  kept  free  of  wrinkles  by  sheer 
will-power,  its  firm  chin,  slightly  aquiline  nose,  and 
measured  brows;  its  eyes  that  saw  everything  so 
quickly,  so  fastidiously,  its  compressed  mouth  that 


20  THE  FREELANDS 

smiled  sweetly,  with  a  resolute  but  pathetic  accep- 
tation. Of  the  piece  of  fine  lace,  sometimes  black, 
sometimes  white,  over  her  gray  hair.  Of  her  hands, 
so  thin  now,  always  moving  a  little,  as  if  all  the 
composure  and  care  not  to  offend  any  eye  by  allow- 
ing Time  to  ravage  her  face,  were  avenging  them- 
selves in  that  constant  movement.  Of  her  figure, 
that  was  short  but  did  not  seem  so,  still  quick- 
moving,  still  alert,  and  always  dressed  in  black  or 
gray.  A  vision  of  that  exact,  fastidious,  wandering 
spirit  called  Frances  Fleeming  Freeland — that  spirit 
strangely  compounded  of  domination  and  humility, 
of  acceptation  and  cynicism;  precise  and  actual  to 
the  point  of  desert  dryness;  generous  to  a  point 
that  caused  her  family  to  despair;  and  always,  be- 
yond all  things,  brave. 

Flora  dropped  the  last  little  bottle,  and  sitting 
on  the  edge  of  the  bath  let  her  eyebrows  rise.  How 
pleasant  was  that  impersonal  humor  which  made 
her  superior  to  other  wives ! 

"  You— nomadic?    How?" 

"  Mother  travels  unceasingly  from  place  to  place, 
person  to  person,  thing  to  thing.  I  travel  unceas- 
ingly from  motive  to  motive,  mind  to  mind;  my 
native  air  is  also  desert  air — hence  the  sterility  of 
my  work." 

Flora  rose,  but  her  eyebrows  descended. 

"Your  work,"  she  said,  "is  not  sterile." 

"That,  my  dear,"  said  Felix,  "is  prejudice." 
And  perceiving  that  she  was  going  to  kiss  him, 
he  waited  without  annoyance.  For  a  woman  of 


THE  FREELANDS  21 

forty-two,  with  two  children  and  three  books  of 
poems — and  not  knowing  which  had  taken  least 
out  of  her — with  hazel-gray  eyes,  wavy  eyebrows 
darker  than  they  should  have  been,  a  glint  of  red 
in  her  hair;  wavy  figure  and  lips;  quaint,  half- 
humorous  indolence,  quaint,  half-humorous  warmth 
— was  she  not  as  satisfactory  a  woman  as  a  man 
could  possibly  have  married ! 

"I  have  got  to  go  down  and  see  Tod,"  he  said. 
"I  like  that  wife  of  his;  but  she  has  no  sense  of 
humor.  How  much  better  principles  are  in  theory 
than  in  practice ! " 

Flora  repeated  softly,  as  if  to  herself: 
"I'm  glad  I  have  none."  She  was  at  the  window 
leaning  out,  and  Felix  took  his  place  beside  her. 
The  air  was  full  of  scent  from  wet  leaves,  alive 
with  the  song  of  birds  thanking  the  sky.  Sud- 
denly he  felt  her  arm  round  his  ribs;  either  it  or 
they — which,  he  could  not  at  the  moment  tell— 
seemed  extraordinarily  soft.  .  .  . 

Between  Felix  and  his  young  daughter,  Nedda, 
there  existed  the  only  kind  of  love,  except  a  mother's, 
which  has  much  permanence — love  based  on  mutual 
admiration.  Though  why  Nedda,  with  her  starry  ^ 
innocence,  should  admire  him,  Felix  could  never 
understand,  not  realizing  that  she  read  his  books, 
and  even  analyzed  them  for  herself  in  the  diary 
which  she  kept  religiously,  writing  it  when  she 
ought  to  have  been  asleep.  He  had  therefore  no 
knowledge  of  the  way  his  written  thoughts  stimu- 


22  THE  FREELANDS 

lated  the  ceaseless  questioning  that  was  always 
going  on  within  her;  the  thirst  to  know  why  this 
was  and  that  was  not.  Why,  for  instance,  her  heart 
ached  so  some  days  and  felt  light  and  eager  other 
days  ?  Why,  when  people  wrote  and  talked  of  God, 
they  seemed  to  know  what  He  was,  and  she  never 
did?  Why  people  had  to  suffer;  and  the  world  be 
black  to  so  many  millions?  Why  one  could  not 
love  more  than  one  man  at  a  time?  Why — a  thou- 
sand things?  Felix's  books  supplied  no  answers  to 
these  questions,  but  they  were  comforting;  for  her 
real  need  as  yet  was  not  for  answers,  but  ever  for 
more  questions,  as  a  young  bird's  need  is  for  open- 
ing its  beak  without  quite  knowing  what  is  coming 
out  or  going  in.  When  she  and  her  father  walked, 
or  sat,  or  went  to  concerts  together,  their  talk  was 
neither  particularly  intimate  nor  particularly  vol- 
uble; they  made  to  each  other  no  great  confidences. 
Yet  each  was  certain  that  the  other  was  not  bored 
—a  great  thing;  and  they  squeezed  each  other's  little 
fingers  a  good  deal — very  warming.  Now  with  his 
son  Alan,  Felix  had  a  continual  sensation  of  having  to 
keep  up  to  a  mark  and  never  succeeding — a  feeling, 
as  in  his  favorite  nightmare,  of  trying  to  pass  an  ex- 
amination for  which  he  had  neglected  to  prepare; 
of  having  to  preserve,  in  fact,  form  proper  to  the 
father  of  Alan  Freeland.  With  Nedda  he  had  a 
/sense  of  refreshment;  the  delight  one  has  on  a 
spring  day,  watching  a  clear  stream,  a  bank  of 
flowers,  birds  flying.  And  Nedda  with  her  father 
—what  feeling  had  she?  To  be  with  him  was  like 


THE  FREELANDS  23 

a  long  stroking  with  a  touch  of  tickle  in  it;  to  read 
his  books,  a  long  tickle  with  a  nice  touch  of  stroking 
now  and  then  when  one  was  not  expecting  it. 

That  night  after  dinner,  when  Alan  had  gone  out 
and  Flora  into  a  dream,  she  snuggled  up  alongside 
her  father,  got  hold  of  his  little  ringer,  and  whispered: 

"Come  into  the  garden,  Dad;  I'll  put  on  goloshes. 
It's  an  awfully  nice  moon." 

The  moon  indeed  was  palest  gold  behind  the 
pines,  so  that  its  radiance  was  a  mere  shower  of 
pollen,  just  a  brushing  of  white  moth-down  over 
the  reeds  of  their  little  dark  pond,  and  the  black 
blur  of  the  flowering  currant  bushes.  And  the 
young  lime-trees,  not  yet  in  full  leaf,  quivered  ec- 
statically in  that  moon-witchery,  still  letting  fall 
raindrops  of  the  past  spring  torrent,  with  soft  hiss- 
ing sounds.  A  real  sense  in  the  garden,  of  God 
holding  his  breath  in  the  presence  of  his  own  youth 
swelling,  growing,  trembling  toward  perfection! 
Somewhere  a  bird — a  thrush,  they  thought — mixed 
in  its  little  mind  as  to  night  and  day,  was  queerly 
chirruping.  And  Felix  and  his  daughter  went  along 
the  dark  wet  paths,  holding  each  other's  arms,  not 
talking  much.  For,  in  him,  very  responsive  to  the 
moods  of  Nature,  there  was  a  flattered  feeling,  with 
that  young  arm  in  his,  of  Spring  having  chosen  to 
confide  in  him  this  whispering,  rustling  hour.  And 
in  Nedda  was  so  much  of  that  night's  unutterable 
youth — no  wonder  she  was  silent !  Then,  somehow 
—neither  responsible — they  stood  motionless.  How 
quiet  it  was,  but  for  a  distant  dog  or  two,  and  the 


24  THE  FREELANDS 

stilly  shivering-down  of  the  water  drops,  and  the 
far  vibration  of  the  million- voiced  city  !  How  quiet 
and  soft  and  fresh !  Then  Nedda  spoke : 

"Dad,  I  do  so  want  to  know  everything." 

Not  rousing  even  a  smile,  with  its  sublime  im- 
modesty, that  aspiration  seemed  to  Felix  infinitely 
touching.  What  less  could  youth  want  in  the  very 
heart  of  Spring?  And,  watching  her  face  put  up 
to  the  night,  her  parted  lips,  and  the  moon-gleam 
fingering  her  white  throat,  he  answered: 

"It'll  all  come  soon  enough,  my  pretty!" 

To  think  that  she  must  come  to  an  end  like  the 
rest,  having  found  out  almost  nothing,  having  dis- 
covered just  herself,  and  the  particle  of  God  that 
was  within  her!  But  he  could  not,  of  course,  say 
this. 

"  I  want  to  feel.     Can't  I  begin  ?  " 

How  many  millions  of  young  creatures  all  the 
world  over  were  sending  up  that  white  prayer  to 
climb  and  twine  toward  the  stars,  and — fall  to 
earth  again!  And  nothing  to  be  answered,  but: 

"Time  enough,  Nedda!" 

/"But,  Dad,  there  are  such  heaps  of  things,  such 
heaps  of  people,  and  reasons,  and — and  life;  and  I 
know  nothing.  Dreams  are  the  only  times,  it  seems 
to  me,  that  one  finds  out  anything." 

"As  for  that,  my  child,  I  am  exactly  in  your 
case.  What's  to  be  done  for  us?" 

She  slid  her  hand  through  his  arm  again. 

"Don't  laugh  at  me!" 

"Heaven  forbid !    I  meant  it.     You're  finding  out 


THE  FREELANDS  25 

much  quicker  than  I.  It's  all  folk-music  to  you 
still;  to  me  Strauss  and  the  rest  of  the  tired  stuff. 
The  variations  my  mind  spins — wouldn't  I  just 
swap  them  for  the  tunes  your  mind  is  making?" 

"I  don't  seem  making  tunes  at  all.  I  don't  seem 
to  have  anything  to  make  them  of.  Take  me  down 
to  see 'the  Tods/ Dad!" 

Why  not?  And  yet — !  Just  as  in  this  spring 
night  Felix  felt  so  much,  so  very  much,  lying  out 
there  behind  the  still  and  moony  dark,  such  mar- 
vellous holding  of  breath  and  waiting  sentiency,  so 
behind  this  innocent  petition,  he  could  not  help  the 
feeling  of  a  lurking  fatefulness.  That  was  absurd. 
And  he  said:  "If  you  wish  it,  by  all  means.  You'll 
like  your  Uncle  Tod;  as  to  the  others,  I  can't  say, 
but  your  aunt  is  an  experience,  and  experiences  are 
what  you  want,  it  seems." 

Fervently,  without  speech,  Nedda  squeezed  his 
arm. 


CHAPTER  IV 

STANLEY  FREELAND'S  country  house,  Becket,  was 
almost  a  show  place.  It  stood  in  its  park  and  pas- 
tures two  miles  from  the  little  town  of  Transham 
and  the  Morton  Plough  Works;  close  to  the  an- 
cestral home  of  the  More  tons,  his  mother's  family 
—that  home  burned  down  by  Roundheads  in  the 
Civil  War.  The  site — certain  vagaries  in  the  ground 
— Mrs.  Stanley  had  caused  to  be  walled  round,  and 
consecrated  so  to  speak  with  a  stone  medallion  on 
which  were  engraved  the  aged  Moreton  arms — ar- 
rows and  crescent  moons  in  proper  juxtaposition. 
Peacocks,  too — that  bird  'parlant/  from  the  old 
Moreton  crest — were  encouraged  to  dwell  there  and 
utter  their  cries,  as  of  passionate  souls  lost  in  too 
comfortable  surroundings. 

By  one  of  those  freaks  of  which  Nature  is  so 
prodigal,  Stanley — owner  of  this  native  Moreton 
soil — least  of  all  four  Freeland  brothers,  had  the 
Moreton  cast  of  mind  and  body.  That  was  why 
he  made  so  much  more  money  than  the  other  three 
put  together,  and  had  been  able,  with  the  aid  of 
Clara's  undoubted  genius  for  rank  and  station,  to 
restore  a  strain  of  Moreton  blood  to  its  rightful 
position  among  the  county  families  of  Worcester- 
shire. Bluff  and  without  sentiment,  he  himself  set 
little  store  by  that,  smiling  up  his  sleeve — for  he 

26 


THE  FREELANDS  27 

was  both  kindly  and  prudent — at  his  wife  who  had 
been  a  Tomson.  It  was  not  in  Stanley  to  appre- 
ciate the  peculiar  flavor  of  the  Moretons,  that  some- 
thing which  in  spite  of  their  naivete  and  narrow- 
ness, had  really  been  rather  fine.  To  him,  such 
Moretons  as  were  left  ,were  'dry  enough  sticks, 
clean  out  of  it.'  They  were  of  a  breed  that  was 
already  gone,  the  simplest  of  all  country  gentlemen, 
dating  back  to  the  Conquest,  without  one  solitary 
conspicuous  ancestor,  save  the  one  who  had  been 
physician  to  a  king  and  perished  without  issue — 
marrying  from  generation  to  generation  exactly 
their  own  equals;  living  simple,  pious,  parochial 
lives;  never  in  trade,  never  making  money,  having 
a  tradition  and  a  practice  of  gentility  more  punc- 
tilious than  the  so-called  aristocracy;  constitution- 
ally paternal  and  maternal  to  their  dependents, 
constitutionally  so  convinced  that  those  dependents 
and  all  indeed  who  were  not  '  gen  try,'  were  of  dif- 
ferent clay,  that  they  were  entirely  simple  and  en- 
tirely without  arrogance,  carrying  with  them  even 
now  a  sort  of  Early  atmosphere  of  archery  and 
home-made  cordials,  lavender  and  love  of  clergy, 
together  with  frequent  use  of  the  word  'nice/  a 
peculiar  regularity  of  feature,  and  a  complexion 
that  was  rather  parchmenty.  High  Church  people 
and  Tories,  naturally,  to  a  man  and  woman,  by 
sheer  inbred  absence  of  ideas,  and  sheer  inbred 
conviction  that  nothing  else  was  nice;  but  withal 
very  considerate  of  others,  really  plucky  in  bearing 
their  own  ills;  not  greedy,  and  not  wasteful. 


28  THE  FREELANDS 

Of  Becket,  as  it  now  was,  they  would  not  have 
approved  at  all.  By  what  chance  Edmund  More- 
ton  (Stanley's  mother's  grandfather),  in  the  middle 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  had  suddenly  diverged 
from  family  feeling  and  ideals,  and  taken  that  'not 
quite  nice'  resolution  to  make  ploughs  and  money, 
would  never  now  be  known.  The  fact  remained, 
together  with  the  plough  works.  A  man  appar- 
ently of  curious  energy  and  character,  considering 
his  origin,  he  had  dropped  the  e  from  his  name, 
and — though  he  continued  the  family  tradition  so 
far  as  to  marry  a  Fleeming  of  Worcestershire,  to  be 
paternal  to  his  workmen,  to  be  known  as  Squire, 
and  to  bring  his  children  up  in  the  older  Moreton 
'  niceness ' — he  had  yet  managed  to  make  his  ploughs 
quite  celebrated,  to  found  a  little  town,  and  die  still 
handsome  and  clean-shaved  at  the  age  of  sixty-six. 
Of  his  four  sons,  only  two  could  be  found  suffi- 
ciently without  the  e  to  go  on  making  ploughs. 
Stanley's  grandfather,  Stuart  Morton,  indeed,  had 
tried  hard,  but  in  the  end  had  reverted  to  the  con- 
genital instinct  for  being  just  a 'Moreton.  An  ex- 
tremely amiable  man,  he  took  to  wandering  with 
his  family,  and  died  in  France,  leaving  one  daughter 
—Frances,  Stanley's  mother — and  three  sons,  one 
of  whom,  absorbed  in  horses,  wandered  to  Aus- 
tralia and  was  killed  by  falling  from  them;  one 
^f  whom,  a  soldier,  wandered  to  India,  and  the 
embraces  of  a  snake:  and  one  of  whom  wandered 
into  the  embraces  of  ffie  Holy  Roman  Church. 

The  Morton  Plough  Works  were  dry  and  dwin- 


THE  FREELANDS  29 

dling  when  Stanley's  father,  seeking  an  opening  for 
his  son,  put  him  and  money  into  them.  From  that 
moment  they  had  never  looked  back,  and  now 
brought  Stanley,  the  sole  proprietor,  an  income  of 
full  fifteen  thousand  pounds  a  year.  He  wanted  it. 
For  Clara,  his  wife,  had  that  energy  of  aspiration 
which  before  now  has  raised  women  to  positions  of 
importance  in  the  counties  which  are  not  their  own, 
and  caused,  incidentally,  many  acres  to  go  out  of 
cultivation.  Not  one  plough  was  used  on  the  whole 
of  Becket,  not  even  a  Morton  plough — these  indeed 
were  unsuitable  to  English  soil  and  were  all  sent 
abroad.  It  was  the  corner-stone  of  his  success  that 
Stanley  had  completely  seen  through  the  talked-of 
revival  of  English  agriculture,  and  sedulously  cul- 
tivated the  foreign  market.  This  was  why  the 
Becket  dining-room  could  contain  without  straining 
itself  large  quantities  of  local  magnates  and  celeb- 
rities from  London,  all  deploring  the  condition  of 
'the  Land/  and  discussing  without  end  the  regret- 
table position  of  the  agricultural  laborer.  Except 
for  literary  men  and  painters,  present  in  small 
quantities  to  leaven  the  lump,  Becket  was,  in  fact, 
a  rallying  point  for  the  advanced  spirits  of  Land 
Reform — one  of  those  places  where  they  were  sure 
of  being  well  done  at  week-ends,  and  of  congenial 
and  even  stimulating  talk  about  the  undoubted 
need  for  doing  something,  and  the  designs  which 
were  being  entertained  upon  'the  Land'  by  either 
party.  This  very  heart  of  English  country  that 
the  old  Moretons  in  their  paternal  way  had  so 


30  THE  FREELANDS 

religiously  farmed,  making  out  of  its  lush  grass  and 
waving  corn  a  simple  and  by  no  means  selfish  or 
ungenerous  subsistence,  was  now  entirely  lawns, 
park,  coverts,  and  private  golf  course,  together  with 
enough  grass  to  support  the  kine  which  yielded  that 
continual  stream  of  milk  necessary  to  Clara's  en- 
tertainments and  children,  all  female,  save  little 
Francis,  and  still  of  tender  years.  Of  gardeners, 
keepers,  cow-men,  chauffeurs,  footmen,  stablemen- 
full  twenty  were  supported  on  those  fifteen  hundred 
acres  that  formed  the  little  Becket  demesne.  Of 
agricultural  laborers  proper — that  vexed  individual 
so  much  in  the  air,  so  reluctant  to  stay  on  'the 
Land/  and  so  difficult  to  house  when  he  was  there, 
there  were  fortunately  none,  so  that  it  was  possible 
for  Stanley,  whose  wife  meant  him  to  'put  up'  for 
the  Division,  and  his  guests,  who  were  frequently 
in  Parliament,  to  hold  entirely  unbiassed  and  im- 
personal views  upon  the  whole  question  so  long 
as  they  were  at  Becket. 

It  was  beautiful  there,  too,  with  the  bright  open 
fields  hedged  with  great  elms,  and  that  ever-rich 
serenity  of  its  grass  and  trees.  The  white  house, 
timbered  with  dark  beams  in  true  Worcestershire 
fashion,  and  added-to  from  time  to  time,  had  pre- 
served, thanks  to  a  fine  architect,  an  old-fashioned 
air  of  spacious  presidency  above  its  gardens  and 
lawns.  On  the  long  artificial  lake,  with  innumer- 
able rushy  nooks  and  water-lilies  and  coverture  of 
leaves  floating  flat  and  bright  in  the  sun,  the  half- 
tame  wild  duck  and  shy  water-hens  had  remote  little 


THE  FREELANDS  31 

worlds,  and  flew  and  splashed  when  all  Becket  was , 
abed,  quite  as  if  the  human  spirit,  with  its  monkey-,   l\ 
tricks  and  its  little  divine  flame,  had  not  yet  been 
born. 

Under  the  shade  of  a  copper-beech,  just  where  ^ 
the  drive  cut  through  into  its  circle  before  the  house,  v 
an  old  lady  was  sitting  that  afternoon  on  a  camp- 
stool.  She  was  dressed  in  gray  alpaca,  light  and 
cool,  and  had  on  her  iron-gray  hair  a  piece  of  black 
lace.  A  number  of  Hearth  and  Home  and  a  little 
pair  of  scissors,  suspended  by  an  inexpensive  chain 
from  her  waist,  rested  on  her  knee,  for  she  had 
been  meaning  to  cut  out  for  dear  Felix  a  certain 
recipe  for  keeping  the  head  cool;  but,  as  a  fact, 
she  sat  without  doing  so,  very  still,  save  that,  now 
and  then,  she  compressed  her  pale  fine  lips,  and 
continually  moved  her  pale  fine  hands.  She  was 
evidently  waiting  for  something  that  promised  ex- 
citement, even  pleasure,  for  a  little  rose-leaf  flush 
had  quavered  up  into  a  face  that  was  colored  like 
parchment;  and  her  gray  eyes  under  regular  and 
still-dark  brows,  very  far  apart,  between  which 
there  was  no  semblance  of  a  wrinkle,  seemed  noting 
little  definite  things  about  her,  almost  unwillingly, 
as  an  Arab's  or  a  Red  Indian's  eyes  will  continue 
to  note  things  in  the  present,  however  their  minds 
may  be  set  on  the  future.  So  sat  Frances  Fleeming 
Freeland  (nee  Morton)  waiting  for  the  arrival  of  her 
son  Felix  and  her  grandchildren  Alan  and  Nedda. 

She  marked  presently  an  old  man  limping  slowly 
on  a  stick  toward  where  the  drive  debouched,  and 


32  THE  FREELANDS 

thought  at  once:  "He  oughtn't  to  be  coming  this 
way.  I  expect  he  doesn't  know  the  way  round  to 
the  back.  Poor  man,  he's  very  lame.  He  looks 
respectable,  too."  She  got  up  and  went  toward 
him,  remarking  that  his  face  with  nice  gray  mous- 
taches was  wonderfully  regular,  almost  like  a  gen- 
tleman's, and  that  he  touched  his  dusty  hat  with 
quite  old-fashioned  courtesy.  And  smiling — her 
smile  was  sweet  but  critical — she  said:  "You'll  find 
the  best  way  is  to  go  back  to  that  little  path,  and 
past  the  greenhouses.  Have  you  hurt  your  leg?" 

"My  leg's  been  like  that,  m'm,  fifteen  year  come 
Michaelmas." 

"How  did  it  happen?" 

"Ploughin'.  The  bone  was  injured;  an'  now  they 
say  the  muscle's  dried  up  in  a  manner  of  speakin'." 

"What  do  you  do  for  it?  The  very  best  thing  is 
this." 

From  the  recesses  of  a  deep  pocket,  placed  where 
no  one  else  wore  such  a  thing,  she  brought  out  a 
little  pot. 

"You  must  let  me  give  it  you.  Put  it  on  when 
you  go  to  bed,  and  rub  it  well  in;  you'll  find  it 
act  splendidly." 

The  old  man  took  the  little  pot  with  dubious 
reverence. 

"Yes,  m'm,"  he  said;   "thank  you,  m'm." 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"Gaunt." 

"And  where  do  you  live?" 

"Over  to  Joyfields,  m'm." 


THE  FREELANDS  33 

"Joyfields — another  of  my  sons  lives  there — Mr. 
Morton  Freeland.  But  it's  seven  miles." 

"I  got  a  lift  half-way." 

"And  have  you  business  at  the  house?" 

The  old  man  was  silent;  the  downcast,  rather  cyn- 
ical look  of  his  lined  face  deepened.  And  Frances 
Freeland  thought:  'He's  overtired.  They  must  give 
him  some  tea  and  an  egg.  What  can  he  want, 
coming  all  this  way?  He's  evidently  not  a  beggar.' 

The  old  man  who  was  not  a  beggar  spoke  sud- 
denly: 

"I  know  the  Mr.  Freeland  at  Joyfields.  He's  a 
good  gentleman,  too." 

"Yes,  he  is.     I  wonder  I  don't  know  you." 

"I'm  not  much  about,  owin'  to  my  leg.  It's  my 
grand-daughter  in  service  here,  I  come  to  see." 

"Oh,  yes!    What  is  her  name?" 

"Gaunt  her  name  is." 

"I  shouldn't  know  her  by  her  surname." 

"Alice." 

"Ah !  in  the  kitchen;  a  nice,  pretty  girl.  I  hope 
you're  not  in  trouble." 

Again  the  old  man  was  silent,  and  again  spoke 
suddenly: 

"That's  as  you  look  at  it,  m'm,"  he  said.  "I've 
got  a  matter  of  a  few  words  to  have  with  her  about 
the  family.  Her  father  he  couldn't  come,  so  I  come 
instead." 

"And  how  are  you  going  to  get  back?" 

"I'll  have  to  walk,  I  expect,  without  I  can  pick 
up  with  a  cart." 


34  THE  FREELANDS 

Frances  Freeland  compressed  her  lips.  "With 
that  leg  you  should  have  come  by  train." 

The  old  man  smiled. 

"I  hadn't  the  fare  like,"  he  said.  "I  only  gets 
five  shillin's  a  week,  from  the  council,  and  two  o' 
that  I  pays  over  to  my  son." 

Frances  Freeland  thrust  her  hand  once  more  into 
that  deep  pocket,  and  as  she  did  so  she  noticed 
that  the  old  man's  left  boot  was  flapping  open,  and 
that  there  were  two  buttons  off  his  coat.  Her  mind 
was  swiftly  calculating:  "It  is  more  than  seven 
weeks  to  quarter  day.  Of  course  I  can't  afford  it, 
but  I  must  just  give  him  a  sovereign." 

She  withdrew  her  hand  from  the  recesses  of  her 
pocket  and  looked  at  the  old  man's  nose.  It  was 
finely  chiselled,  and  the  same  yellow  as  his  face. 
"It  looks  nice,  and  quite  sober,"  she  thought.  In 
her  hand  was  her  purse  and  a  boot-lace.  She  took 
out  a  sovereign. 

"Now,  if  I  give  you  this,"  she  said,  "you  must 
promise  me  not  to  spend  any  of  it  in  the  public- 
house.  And  this  is  for  your  boot.  And  you  must 
go  back  by  train.  And  get  those  buttons  sewn  on 
your  coat.  And  tell  cook,  from  me,  please,  to  give 
you  some  tea  and  an  egg."  And  noticing  that  he 
took  the  sovereign  and  the  boot-lace  very  respect- 
fully, and  seemed  altogether  very  respectable,  and 
not  at  all  coarse  or  beery-looking,  she  said: 

"Good-by;  don't  forget  to  rub  what  I  gave  you 
into  your  leg  every  night  and  every  morning,"  and 
went  back  to  her  camp-stool.  Sitting  down  on  it 


THE  FREELANDS  35 

with  the  scissors  in  her  hand,  she  still  did  not  cut 
out  that  recipe,  but  remained  as  before,  taking  in 
small,  definite  things,  and  feeling  with  an  inner 
trembling  that  dear  Felix  and  Alan  and  Nedda 
would  soon  be  here;  and  the  little  flush  rose  again 
in  her  cheeks,  and  again  her  lips  and  hands  moved, 
expressing  and  compressing  what  was  in  her  heart. 
And  close  behind  her,  a  peacock,  straying  from  the 
foundations  of  the  old  Moreton  house,  uttered  a 
cry,  and  moved  slowly,  spreading  its  tail  under  the 
low-hanging  boughs  of  the  copper-beeches,  as  though 
it  knew  those  dark  burnished  leaves  were  the  proper 
setting  for  its  'parlant'  magnificence. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  day  after  the  little  conference  at  John's, 
Felix  had  indeed  received  the  following  note: 

"DEAR  FELIX: 

"When  you  go  down  to  see  old  Tod,  why  not  put  up 
with  us  at  Becket?  Any  time  will  suit,  and  the  car  can 
take  you  over  to  Joyfields  when  you  like.  Give  the  pen 
a  rest.  Clara  joins  in  hoping  you'll  come,  and  Mother  is 
still  here.  No  use,  I  suppose,  to  ask  Flora. 

"Yours  ever, 

"STANLEY.* 

During  the  twenty  years  of  his  brother's  sojourn 
there  Felix  had  been  down  to  Becket  perhaps  once 
a  year,  and  latterly  alone;  for  Flora,  having  ac- 
companied him  the  first  few  times,  had  taken  a 
firm  stand. 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  "I  feel  all  body  there." 

Felix  had  rejoined: 

"No  bad  thing,  once  in  a  way." 

But  Flora  had  remained  firm.  Life  was  too 
short !  She  did  not  get  on  well  with  Clara.  Neither 
did  Felix  feel  too  happy  in  his  sister-in-law's  pres- 
ence; but  the  gray  top-hat  instinct  had  kept  him 
going  there,  for  one  ought  to  keep  in  touch  with 
one's  brothers. 

36 


THE  FREELANDS  37 

He  replied  to  Stanley: 

"DEAR  STANLEY: 

"Delighted;  if  I  may  bring  my  two  youngsters.  We'll 
'  arrive  to-morrow  at  four-fifty. 

"Yours  affectionately, 

"FELIX." 

Travelling  with  Nedda  was  always  jolly;  one 
could  watch  her  eyes  noting,  inquiring,  and  when 
occasion  served,  have  one's  little  finger  hooked  in 
and  squeezed.  Travelling  with  Alan  was  conve- 
nient, the  young  man  having  a  way  with  railways 
which  Felix  himself  had  long  despaired  of  acquiring. 
Neither  of  the  children  had  ever  been  at  Becket, 
and  though  Alan  was  seldom  curious,  and  Nedda  too 
curious  about  everything  to  be  specially  so  about 
this,  yet  Felix  experienced  in  their  company  the 
sensations  of  a  new  adventure. 

Arrived  at  Transham,  that  little  town  upon  a 
hill  which  the  Morton  Plough  Works  had  created, 
they  were  soon  in  Stanley's  car,  whirling  into  the 
sleepy  peace  of  a  Worcestershire  afternoon.  Would 
this  young  bird  nestling  up  against  him  echo  Flora's 
verdict:  'I  feel  all  body  there!'  or  would  she  take 
to  its  fatted  luxury  as  a  duck  to  water?  And  he 
said:  "By  the  way,  your  aunt's  ' Bigwigs'  set  in 
on  a  Saturday.  Are  you  for  staying  and  seeing  the 
lions  feed,  or  do  we  cut  back?" 

From  Alan  he  got  the  answer  he  expected: 

"If  there's  golf  or  something,  I  suppose  we  can 
make  out  all  right."  From  Nedda:  "What  sort 
of  Bigwigs  are  they,  Dad?" 


38  THE  FREELANDS 

UA  sort  you've  never  seen,  my  dear." 

"Then    I    should    like    to    stay.     Only,    about 
dresses?" 

"What  war  paint  have  you?" 

"Only  two  white  evenings.    And  Mums  gave  me 
her  Mechlin." 

"'Twill  serve." 

To  Felix,  Nedda  in  white  ' evenings'  was  starry 
and  all  that  man  could  desire. 

"Only,  Dad,  do  tell  me  about  them,  beforehand." 

"My  dear,  I  will.     And  God  be  with  you.     This 
is  where  Becket  begins." 

The  car  had  swerved  into  a  long  drive  between 
trees  not  yet  full-grown,  but  decorously  trying  to 
look  more  than  their  twenty  years.  To  the  right, 
about  a  group  of  older  elms,  rooks  were  in  commo- 
tion, for  Stanley's  three  keepers'  wives  had  just 
baked  their  annual  rook  pies,  and  the  birds  were 
not  yet  happy  again.  Those  elms  had  stood  there 
when  the  old  Moretons  walked  past  them  through 
corn-fields  to  church  of  a  Sunday.  Away  on  the 
left  above  the  lake,  the  little  walled  mound  had 
come  in  view.  Something  in  Felix  always  stirred 
at  sight  of  it,  and,  squeezing  Nedda's  arm,  he  said: 
t"See  that  silly  wall?  Behind  there  Granny's 
ancients  lived.  Gone  now — new  house — new  lake 
—new  trees — new  everything." 

But  he  saw  from  his  little  daughter's  calm  eyes 
that  the  sentiment  in  him  was  not  in  her. 

"I  like  the  lake,"  she  said.     "There's  Granny— 
oh,  and  a  peacock  !" 


THE  FREELANDS  39 

His  mother's  embrace,  with  its  frail  energy,  and 
the  pressure  of  her  soft,  dry  lips,  filled  Felix  always 
with  remorse.  Why  could  he  not  give  the  simple 
and  direct  expression  to  his  feeling  that  she  gave 
to  hers?  He  watched  those  lips  transferred  to 
Nedda,  heard  her  say:  "Oh,  my  darling,  how 
lovely  to  see  you !  Do  you  know  this  for  midge- 
bites?"  A  hand,  diving  deep  into  a  pocket,  re- 
turned with  a  little  silver-coated  stick  having  a 
bluish  end.  Felix  saw  it  rise  and  hover  about 
Nedda' s  forehead,  and  descend  with  two  little  swift 
dabs.  "It  takes  them  away  at  once." 

"Oh,  but  Granny,  they're  not  midge-bites;  they're 
only  from  my  hat ! " 

"It  doesn't  matter,  darling;  it  takes  away  any- 
thing like  that." 

And  he  thought:    ' Mother  is  really  wonderful!' 

At  the  house  the  car  had  already  disgorged  their 
luggage.  Only  one  man,  but  he  absolutely  the  but- 
ler, awaited  them,  and  they  entered,  at  once  con- 
scious of  Clara's  special  pot-pourri.  Its  fragrance 
steamed  from  blue  china,  in  every  nook  and  crevice, 
a  sort  of  baptism  into  luxury.  Clara  herself,  in  the 
outer  morning-room,  smelled  a  little  of  it.  Quick 
and  dark  of  eye,  capable,  comely,  perfectly  but- 
toned, one  of  those  women  who  know  exactly  how 
not  to  be  superior  to  the  general  taste  of  the  period.  / 
In  addition  to  that  great  quality  she  was  endowed 
with  a  fine  nose,  an  instinct  for  co-ordination  not 
to  be  excelled,  and  a  genuine  love  of  making  people 
comfortable;  so  that  it  was  no  wonder  that  she  had 


40  THE  FREELANDS 

risen  in  the  ranks  of  hostesses,  till  her  house  was 
celebrated  for  its  ease,  even  among  those  who  at 
their  week-ends  liked  to  feel  'all  body.'  In  regard 
to  that  characteristic  of  Becket,  not  even  Felix  in 
his  ironies  had  ever  stood  up  to  Clara;  the  matter 
was  too  delicate.  Frances  Freeland,  indeed — not 
because  she  had  any  philosophic  preconceptions  on 
the  matter,  but  because  it  was  'not  nice,  dear,  to 
be  wasteful'  even  if  it  were  only  of  rose-leaves,  or 
to  'have  too  much  decoration/  such  as  Japanese 
prints  in  places  where  they  hum — sometimes  told 
her  daughter-in-law  frankly  what  was  wrong,  with- 
out, however,  making  the  faintest  impression  upon 
Clara,  for  she  was  not  sensitive,  and,  as  she  said  to 
Stanley,  it  was  'only  Mother.' 

When  they  had  drunk  that  special  Chinese  tea, 
all  the  rage,  but  which  no  one  really  liked,  in  the 
inner  morning,  or  afternoon  room — for  the  draw- 
ing-rooms were  too  large  to  be  comfortable  except 
at  week-ends — they  went  to  see  the  children,  a 
special  blend  of  Stanley  and  Clara,  save  the  little 
Francis,  who  did  not  seem  to  be  entirely  body. 
Then  Clara  took  them  to  their  rooms.  She  lingered 
kindly  in  Nedda's,  feeling  that  the  girl  could  not 
yet  feel  quite  at  home,  and  looking  hi  the  soap-dish 
lest  she  might  not  have  the  right  verbena,  and 
about  the  dressing-table  to  see  that  she  had  pins 
and  scent,  and  plenty  of  'pot-pourri,'  and  thinking: 
'The  child  is  pretty — a  nice  girl,  not  like  her  mother.' 
Explaining  carefully  how,  because  of  the  approach- 
ing week-end,  she  had  been  obliged  to  put  her  in 


THE  FREELANDS  41 

'a  very  simple  room'  where  she  would  be  compelled 
to  cross  the  corridor  to  her  bath,  she  asked  her  if 
she  had  a  quilted  dressing-gown,  and  finding  that 
she  had  not,  left  her  saying  she  would  send  one — 
and  could  she  do  her  frocks  up,  or  should  Sirrett 
come? 

Abandoned,  the  girl  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  so  far  more  '  simple '  than  she  had  ever  slept 
in,  with  its  warm  fragrance  of  rose-leaves  and  ver- 
bena, its  Aubusson  carpet,  white  silk-quilted  bed, 
sofa,  cushioned  window-seat,  dainty  curtains,  and 
little  nickel  box  of  biscuits  on  little  spindly  table. 
There  she  stood  and  sniffed,  stretched  herself,  and 
thought:  'It's  jolly — only,  it  smells  too  much !'  and  ^ 
she  went  up  to  the  pictures,  one  by  one.  They 
seemed  to  go  splendidly  with  the  room,  and  sud- 
denly she  felt  homesick.  Ridiculous,  of  course! 
Yet,  if  she  had  known  where  her  father's  room  was, 
she  would  have  run  out  to  it;  but  her  memory  was 
too  tangled  up  with  stairs  and  corridors — to  find  her 
way  down  to  the  hall  again  was  all  she  could  have 
done. 

A  maid  came  in  now  with  a  blue  silk  gown  very 
thick  and  soft.  Could  she  do  anything  for  Miss 
Freeland?  No,  thanks,  she  could  not;  only,  did 
she  know  where  Mr.  Freeland' s  room  was? 

"Which  Mr.  Freeland,  miss,  the  young  or  the 
old?" 

"Oh,  the  old!"  Having  said  which,  Nedda  felt 
unhappy;  her  Dad  was  not  old!  "No,  miss;  but 
I'll  find  out.  It'll  be  in  the  walnut  'wing!"  But 


42  THE  FREELANDS 

with  a  little  flutter  at  the  thought  of  thus  setting 
people  to  run  about  wings,  Nedda  murmured:  "Oh  ! 
thanks,  no;  it  doesn't  matter." 

She  settled  down  now  on  the  cushion  of  the 
window-seat,  to  look  out  and  take  it  all  in,  right 
away  to  that  line  of  hills  gone  blue  in  the  haze  of 
the  warm  evening.  That  would  be  Malvern;  and 
there,  farther  to  the  south,  the  ' Tods'  lived.  '  Joy- 
fields  ! '  A  pretty  name !  And  it  was  lovely  coun- 
try all  round;  green  and  peaceful,  with  its  white, 
timbered  houses  and  cottages.  People  must  be  very 
happy,  living  here — happy  and  quiet  like  the  stars 
and  the  birds;  not  like  the  crowds  in  London 
thronging  streets  and  shops  and  Hampstead  Heath; 
not  like  the  people  in  all  those  disgruntled  suburbs 
that  led  out  for  miles  where  London  ought  to  have 
stopped  but  had  not;  not  like  the  thousands  and 
thousands  of  those  poor  creatures  in  Bethnal  Green, 
where  her  slum  work  lay.  The  natives  here  must 
surely  be  happy.  Only,  were  there  any  natives? 
She  had  not  seen  any.  Away  to  the  right  below 
her  window  were  the  first  trees  of  the  fruit  garden; 
for  many  of  them  Spring  was  over,  but  the  apple- 
trees  had  just  come  into  blossom,  and  the  low  sun 
shining  through  a  gap  in  some  far  elms  was  slanting 
on  their  creamy  pink,  christening  them — Nedda 
thought — with  drops  of  light;  and  lovely  the  black- 
birds' singing  sounded  in  the  perfect  hush!  How 
wonderful  to  be  a  bird,  going  where  you  would,  and 
from  high  up  in  the  air  seeing  every  thing;  \nying 
down  a  sunbeam,  drinking  a  raindrop,  sitting  on  the 


THE  FREELANDS  43 

very  top  of  a  tall  tree,  running  in  grass  so  high 
that  you  were  hidden,  laying  little  perfect  blue- 
green  eggs,  or  pure-gray  speckly  ones;  never  chang- 
ing your  dress,  yet  always  beautiful.  t|  Surely  the 
spirit  of  the  world  was  in  the  birds  and  the  clouds, 
roaming,  floating,  and  in  the  flowers  and  trees  that 
never  smelled  anything  but  sweet,  never  looked* 
anything  but  lovely,  and  were  never  restless.  Why 
was  one  restless,  wanting  things  that  did  not  come 
— wanting  to  feel  and  know,  wanting  to  love,  and 
be  loved?  And  at  that  thought  which  had  come 
to  her  so  unexpectedly — a  thought  never  before 
shaped  so  definitely — Nedda  planted  her  arms  on 
the  window-sill,  with  sleeves  fallen  down,  and  let 
her  hands  meet  cup-shaped  beneath  her  chin.  Love ! 
To  have  somebody  with  whom  she  could  share 
everything — some  one  to  whom  and  for  whom  she 
could  give  up — some  one  she  could  protect  and  com- 
fort— some  one  who  would  bring  her  peace.  Peace, 
rest— from  what?  Ah!  that  she  could  not  make 
clear,  even  to  herself.  Love !  What  would  love  be 
like  ?  Her  father  loved  her,  and  she  loved  him.  She 
loved  her  mother;  and  Alan  on  the  whole  was  jolly 
to  her— it  was  not  that.  What  was  it— where  was 
it — when  would  it  come  and  wake  her,  and  kiss  her 
to  sleep,  all  in  one?  Come  and  fill  her  as  with  the 
warmth  and  color,  the  freshness,  light,  and  shadow 
of  this  beautiful  May  evening,  flood  her  as  with  the 
singing  of  those  birds,  and  the  warm  light  sunning  the 
apple  blossoms.  And  she  sighed.  Then— as  with  all 
young  things  whose  attention  after  all  is  but  as  the 


44  THE  FREELANDS 

hovering  of  a  butterfly — her  speculation  was  at- 
tracted to  a  thin,  high-shouldered  figure  limping  on  a 
stick,  away  from  the  house,  down  one  of  the  paths 
among  the  apple-trees.  He  wavered,  not  knowing, 
it  seemed,  his  way.  And  Nedda  thought :  l  Poor  old 
man,  how  lame  he  is ! '  She  saw  him  stoop,  screened, 
as  he  evidently  thought,  from  sight,  and  take  some- 
thing very  small  from  his  pocket.  He  gazed,  rubbed 
it,  put  it  back;  what  it  was  she  could  not  see.  Then 
pressing  his  hand  down,  he  smoothed  and  stretched 
his  leg.  His  eyes  seemed  closed.  So  a  stone  man 
might  have  stood !  Till  very  slowly  he  limped  on, 
passing  out  of  sight.  And  turning  from  the  win- 
dow, Nedda  began  hurrying  into  her  evening  things. 

When  she  was  ready  she  took  a  long  time  to 
decide  whether  to  wear  her  mother's  lace  or  keep 
it  for  the  Bigwigs.  But  it  was  so  nice  and  creamy 
that  she  simply  could  not  take  it  off,  and  stood 
turning  and  turning  before  the  glass.  To  stand 
before  a  glass  was  silly  and  old-fashioned;  but 
Nedda  could  never  help  it,  wanting  so  badly  to 
be  nicer  to  look  at  than  she  was,  because  of  that 
something  that  some  day  was  coming ! 

She  was,  in  fact,  pretty,  but  not  merely  pretty 
—there  was  in  her  face  something  alive  and  sweet, 
something  clear  and  swift.  She  had  still  that  way 
of  a  child  raising  its  eyes  very  quickly  and  looking 
straight  at  you  with  an  eager  innocence  that  hides 
everything  by  its  very  wonder;  and  when  those 
eyes  looked  down  they  seemed  closed — their  dark 
lashes  were  so  long.  Her  eyebrows  were  wide  apart, 


THE  FREELANDS  45 

arching  with  a  slight  angle,  and  slanting  a  little 
down  toward  her  nose.  Her  forehead  under  its 
burnt-brown  hair  was  candid;  her  firm  little  chin  \ 
just  dimpled.  Altogether,  a  face  difficult  to  take  \ 
one's  eyes  off.  But  Nedda  was  far  from  vain,  and 
her  face  seemed  to  her  too  short  and  broad,  her 
eyes  too  dark  and  indeterminate,  neither  gray  nor 
brown.  The  straightness  of  her  nose  was  certainly 
comforting,  but  it,  too,  was  short.  Being  creamy 
in  the  throat  and  browning  easily,  she  would  have 
liked  to  be  marble-white,  with  blue  dreamy  eyes 
and  fair  hair,  or  else  like  a  Madonna.  And  was 
she  tall  enough?  Only  five  foot  five.  And  her 
arms  were  too  thin.  The  only  things  that  gave 
her  perfect  satisfaction  were  her  legs,  which,  of 
course,  she  could  not  at  the  moment  see;  they 
really  were  rather  jolly !  Then,  in  a  panic,  fearing 
to  be  late,  she  turned  and  ran  out,  fluttering  into 
the  maze  of  stairs  and  corridors. 


CHAPTER  VI 

CLARA,  Mrs.  Stanley  Freeland,  was  not  a  narrow 
woman  either  in  mind  or  body;  and  years  ago, 
soon  indeed  after  she  married  Stanley,  she  had  de- 
clared her  intention  of  taking  up  her  sister-in-law, 
Kirsteen,  in  spite  of  what  she  had  heard  were  the 
woman's  extraordinary  notions.  Those  were  the 
days  of  carriages,  pairs,  coachmen,  grooms,  and, 
with  her  usual  promptitude,  ordering  out  the  lot, 
she  had  set  forth.  It  is  safe  to  say  she  had  never 
forgotten  that  experience. 

Imagine  an  old,  white,  timbered  cottage  with  a 
thatched  roof,  and  no  single  line  about  it  quite 
straight.  A  cottage  crazy  with  age,  buried  up  to 
the  thatch  in  sweetbrier,  creepers,  honeysuckle,  and 
.  perched  high  above  crossroads.  A  cottage  almost 
unapproachable  for  beehives  and  their  bees — an  in- 
sect for  which  Clara  had  an  aversion.  Imagine  on 
the  rough,  pebbled  approach  to  the  door  of  this 
cottage  (and  Clara  had  on  thin  shoes)  a  peculiar 
cradle  with  a  dark-eyed  baby^hat  was  staring  plac- 
idly at  two  bees?  sleeping -on  a  coverlet  made  of 
a  rough  linen  such  as  Clara  had  never  before  seen. 
Imagine  an  absolutely  naked  little  girl  of  three, 
sitting  in  a  tub  of  sunlight  in  the  very  doorway. 
Clara  had  turned  swiftly  and  closed  the  wicket  gate 
between  the  pebbled  pathway  and  the  mossed  steps 

46 


THE  FREELANDS  47 

that  led  down  to  where  her  coachman  and  her  foot- 
man were  sitting  very  still,  as  was  the  habit  of 
those  people.  She  had  perceived  at  once  that  she 
was  making  no  common  call.  Then,  with  real  cour- 
age she  had  advanced,  and,  looking  down  at  the 
little  girl  with  a  fearful  smile,  had  tickled  the  door 
with  the  handle  of  her  green  parasol.  A  woman 
younger  than  herself,  a  girl,  indeed,  appeared  in  a 
low  doorway.  She  had  often  told  Stanley  since  that 
she  would  never  forget  her  first  sight  (she  had  not 
yet  had  another)  of  Tod's  wife.  A  brown  face  and  > 
black  hair,  fiery  gray  eyes,  eyes  all  light,  under 
black  lashes,  and  "such  a  strange  smile";  bare, 
brown,  shapely  arms  and  neck  in  a  shirt  of  the 
same  rough,  creamy  linen,  and,  from  under  a  bright 
blue  skirt,  bare,  brown,  shapely  ankles  and  feet! 
A  voice  so  soft  and  deadly  that,  as  Clara  said: 
"What  with  her  eyes,  it  really  gave  me  the  shivers. 
And,  my  dear,"  she  had  pursued,  "  white- washed 
walls,  bare  brick  floors,  not  a  picture,  not  a  curtain, 
not  even  a  fire-iron.  Clean — oh,  horribly !  They 
must  be  the  most  awful  cranks.  The  only  thing  I 
must  say  that  was  nice  was  the  smell.  Sweetbrier, 
and  honey,  coffee,  and  baked  apples — really  deli- 
cious. I  must  try  what  I  can  do  with  it.  But 
that  woman — girl,  I  suppose  she  is — stumped  me. 
I'm  sure  she'd  have  cut  my  head  off  if  I'd  attempted 
to  open  my  mouth  on  ordinary  topics.  The  chil- 
dren were  rather  ducks;  but  imagine  leaving  them 
about  like  that  amongst  the  bees.  '  Kirsteen  ! '  She 
looked  it.  Never  again !  And  Tod  I  didn't  see  at 


48  THE  FREELANDS 

all;  I  suppose  he  was  mooning  about  amongst  his 
creatures." 

It  was  the  memory  of  this  visit,  now  seventeen 
years  ago,  that  had  made  her  smile  so  indulgently 
when  Stanley  came  back  from  the  conference.  She 
had  said  at  once  that  they  must  have  Felix  to  stay, 
and  for  her  part  she  would  be  only  too  glad  to  do 
anything  she  could  for  those  poor  children  of  Tod's, 
even  to  asking  them  to  Becket,  and  trying  to  civ- 
ilize them  a  little.  .  .  .  "But  as  for  that  woman, 
there'll  be  nothing  to  be  done  with  her,  I  can  as- 
sure you.  And  I  expect  Tod  is  completely  under 
her  thumb." 

To  Felix,  who  took  her  in  to  dinner,  she  spoke 
feelingly  and  in  a  low  voice.  She  liked  Felix,  in 
spite  of  his  wife,  and  respected  him — he  had  a 
name.  Lady  Malloring — she  told  him — the  Mal- 
lorings  owned,  of  course,  everything  round  Joy- 
fields — had  been  telling  her  that  of  late  Tod's  wife 
had  really  become  quite  rabid  over  the  land  ques- 
tion. 'The  Tods'  were  hand  in  glove  with  all  the 
cottagers.  She,  Clara,  had  nothing  to  say  against 
any  one  who  sympathized  with  the  condition  of  the 
agricultural  laborer;  quite  the  contrary.  Becket 
was  almost,  as  Felix  knew — though  perhaps  it 
wasn't  for  her  to  say  so — the  centre  of  that  move- 
ment; but  there  were  ways  of  doing  things,  and 
one  did  so  deprecate  women  like  this  Kirsteen— 
what  an  impossibly  Celtic  name ! — putting  her  fin- 
ger into  any  pie  that  really  was  of  national  impor- 
tance. Nothing  could  come  of  anything  done  that 


THE  FREELANDS  49 

sort  of  way.  If  Felix  had  any  influence  with  Tod 
it  would  be  a  mercy  to  use  it  in  getting  those  poor 
young  creatures  away  from  home,  to  mix  a  little 
with  people  who  took  a  sane  view  of  things.  She 
would  like  very  much  to  get  them  over  to  Becket, 
but  with  their  notions  it  was  doubtful  whether 
they  had  evening  clothes !  She  had,  of  course,  never 
forgotten  that  naked  mite  in  the  tub  of  sunlight, 
nor  the  poor  baby  with  its  bees  and  its  rough  linen. 

Felix  replied  deferentially — he  was  invariably  po- 
lite, and  only  just  ironic  enough,  in  the  houses  of 
others — that  he  had  the  very  greatest  respect  for 
Tod,  and  that  there  could  be  nothing  very  wrong 
with  the  woman  to  whom  Tod  was  so  devoted.  As 
for  the  children,  his  own  young  people  would  get 
at  them  and  learn  all  about  what  was  going  on  in 
a  way  that  no  fogey  like  himself  could.  In  regard 
to  the  land  question,  there  were,  of  course,  many 
sides  to  that,  and  he,  for  one,  would  not  be  at  all 
sorry  to  observe  yet  another.  After  all,  the  Tods 
were  in  real  contact  with  the  laborers,  and  that  was 
the  great  thing.  It  would  be  very  interesting. 

Yes,  Clara  quite  saw  all  that,  but — and  here  she 
sank  her  voice  so  that  there  was  hardly  any  left— 
as  Felix  was  going  over  there,  she  really  must  put 
him  au  courant  with  the  heart  of  this  matter.  Lady 
Malloring  had  told  her  the  whole  story.  It  ap- 
peared there  were  two  cases :  A  family  called  Gaunt, 
an  old  man,  and  his  son,  who  had  two  daughters- 
one  of  them,  Alice,  quite  a  nice  girl,  was  kitchen- 
maid  here  at  Becket,  but  the  other  sister — Wilmet 


50  THE  FREELANDS 

—well !  she  was  one  of  those  girls  that,  as  Felix 
must  know,  were  always  to  be  found  in  every  vil- 
lage. She  was  leading  the  young  men  astray,  and 
Lady  Malloring  had  put  her  foot  down,  telling  her 
bailiff  to  tell  the  farmer  for  whom  Gaunt  worked 
that  he  and  his  family  must  go,  unless  they  sent 
the  girl  away  somewhere.  That  was  one  case.  And 
the  other  was  of  a  laborer  called  Tryst,  who  wanted 
to  marry  his  deceased  wife's  sister.  Of  course, 
whether  Mildred  Malloring  was  not  rather  too 
churchy  and  puritanical — now  that  a  deceased  wife's 
sister  was  legal — Clara  did  not  want  to  say;  but 
she  was  undoubtedly  within  her  rights  if  she  thought 
it  for  the  good  of  the  village.  This  man,  Tryst, 
was  a  good  workman,  and  his  farmer  had  objected 
to  losing  him,  but  Lady  Malloring  had,  of  course, 
not  given  way,  and  if  he  persisted  he  would  get 
put  out.  All  the  cottages  about  there  were  Sir 
Gerald  Malloring's,  so  that  in  both  cases  it  would 
mean  leaving  the  neighborhood.  In  regard  to  vil- 
lage morality,  as  Felix  knew,  the  line  must  be  drawn 
somewhere. 

Felix  interrupted  quietly: 

"I  draw  it  at  Lady  Malloring." 

"Well,  I  won't  argue  that  with  you.  But  it 
really  is  a  scandal  that  Tod's  wife  should  incite 
her  young  people  to  stir  up  the  villagers.  Good- 
ness knows  where  that  mayn't  lead !  Tod's  cottage 
and  land,  you  see,  are  freehold,  the  only  freehold 
thereabouts;  and  his  being  a  brother  of  Stanley's 
makes  it  particularly  awkward  for  the  Mallorings." 


THE  FREELANDS  51 

"Quite  so!"  murmured  Felix. 

"Yes,  but  my  dear  Felix,  when'  it  comes  to  in- 
fecting those  simple  people  with  inflated  ideas  of 
their  rights,  it's  serious,  especially  in  the  country. 
I'm  told  there's  really  quite  a  violent  feeling.  I 
hear  from  Alice  Gaunt  that  the  young  Tods  have 
been  going  about  saying  that  dogs  are  better  off 
than  people  treated  in  this  fashion,  which,  of  course, 
is  all  nonsense,  and  making  far  too  much  of  a  small 
matter.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

But  Felix  only  smiled  his  peculiar,  sweetish  smile, 
and  answered: 

"I'm  glad  to  have  come  down  just  now." 

Clara,  who  did  not  know  that  when  Felix  smiled 
like  that  he  was  angry,  agreed. 

"Yes,"  she  said;  "you're  an  observer.  You  will, 
see  the  thing  in  right  perspective." 

"I  shall  endeavor  to.     What  does  Tod  say?" 

"Oh!  Tod  never  seems  to  say  anything.  At 
least,  I  never  hear  of  it." 

Felix  murmured: 

"Tod  is  a  well  in  the  desert." 

To  which  deep  saying  Clara  made  no  reply,  not 
indeed  understanding  in  the  least  what  it  might 
signify. 

That  evening,  when  Alan,  having  had  his  fill  of 
billiards,  had  left  the  smoking-room  and  gone  to 
bed,  Felix  remarked  to  Stanley: 

"I  say,  what  sort  of  people  are  these  Mallorings?" 

Stanley,  who  was  settling  himself  for  the  twenty 
minutes  of  whiskey,  potash,  and  a  Review,  with 


52  THE  FREELANDS 

which  he  commonly  composed  his  mind  before  re- 
tiring, answered  negligently: 

"The  MaUorings?  Oh!  about  the  best  type  of 
landowner  we've  got." 

"What  exactly  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

Stanley  took  his  time  to  answer,  for  below  his 
bluff  good-nature  he  had  the  tenacious,  if  some- 
what slow,  precision  of  an  English  man  of  business, 
mingled  with  a  certain  mistrust  of  'old  Felix.' 

"Wdl,"  he  said  at  last,  "they  build  good  cot- 
tages, yellow  brick,  d — d  ugly,  I  must  say;  look 
after  the  character  of  their  tenants;  give  'em  re- 
bate of  rent  if  there's  a  bad  harvest;  encourage 
stock-breedin',  and  machinery — they've  got  some 
of  my  ploughs,  but  the  people  don't  like  'em,  and, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  they're  right — they're  not  made 
for  these  small  fields;  set  an  example  goin'  to  church; 
patronize  the  Rifle  Range;  buy  up  the  pubs  when 
they  can,  and  run  'em  themselves;  send  out  jelly, 
and  let  people  over  their  place  on  bank  holidays. 
Dash  it  all,  I  don't  know  what  they  don't  do. 
Why?" 

"Are  they  liked?" 

"Liked?  No,  I  should  hardly  think  they  were 
liked;  respected,  and  all  that.  Malloring's  a  steady 
fellow,  keen  man  on  housing,  and  a  gentleman; 
she's  a  bit  too  much  perhaps  on  the  pious  side. 
They've  got  one  of  the  finest  Georgian  houses  in 
the  country.  Altogether  they're  what  you  call 
'model.'" 

"But  not  human." 


THE  FREELANDS  53 

Stanley  slightly  lowered  the  Review  and  looked 
across  it  at  his  brother.  It  was  evident  to  him  that 
'old  Felix'  was  in  one  of  his  free- thinking  moods. 

"They're  domestic/'  he  said,  "and  fond  of  their 
children,  and  pleasant  neighbors.  I  don't  deny 
that  they've  got  a  tremendous  sense  of  duty,  but 
we  want  that  in  these  days." 

"Duty  to  what?" 

Stanley  raised  his  level  eyebrows.  It  was  a 
stumper.  Without  great  care  he  felt  that  he  would 
be  getting  over  the  border  into  the  uncharted  land 
of  speculation  and  philosophy,  wandering  on  paths 
that  led  him  nowhere. 

"If  you  lived  in  the  country,  old  man,"  he  said, 
"you  wouldn't  ask  that  sort  of  question." 

"You  don't  imagine,"  said  Felix,  "that  you  or 
the  Mallorings  liv&  in  the  country?  Why,  you 
landlords  are  every  bit  as  much  town  dwellers  as 
I  am — thought,  habit,  dress,  faith,  souls,  all  town 
stuff.  There  is  no  ' country'  in  England  now  for 
us  of  the  l upper  classes.'  It's  gone.  I  repeat: 
Duty  to  what?" 

And,  rising,  he  went  over  to  the  window,  looking 
out  at  the  moonlit  lawn,  overcome  by  a  sudden 
aversion  from  more  talk.  Of  what  use  were  words 
from  a  mind  tuned  in  one  key  to  a  mind  tuned  in 
another?  And  yet,  so  ingrained  was  his  habit  of 
discussion,  that  he  promptly  went  on: 

"The  Mallorings,  I've  not  the  slightest  doubt, 
believe  it  their  duty  to  look  after  the  morals  of 
those  who  live  on  their  property.  There  are  three 


54  THE  FREELANDS 

things  to  be  said  about  that:  One — you  can't  make 
people  moral  by  adopting  the  attitude  of  the  school- 
master. Two — it  implies  that  they  consider  them- 
selves more  moral  than  their  neighbors.  Three- 
it's  a  theory  so  convenient  to  their  security  that 
they  would  be  exceptionally  good  people  if  they  did 
not  adopt  it;  but,  from  your  account,  they  are 
not  so  much  exceptionally  as  just  typically  good 
people.  What  you  call  their  sense  of  duty,  Stan- 
ley, is  really  their  sense  of  self-preservation  coupled 
with  their  sense  of  superiority." 

"H'm!"  said  Stanley;  "I  don't  know  that  I 
quite  follow  you." 

"I  always  hate  an  odor  of  sanctity.  I'd  prefer 
them  to  say  frankly:  'This  is  my  property,  and 
you'll  jolly  well  do  what  I  tell  you,  on  it." 

"But,  my  dear  chap,  after  all,  they  really  are 
superior." 

"That,"  said  Felix,  "I  emphatically  question. 
Put  your  Mallorings  to  earn  their  living  on  fifteen 
to  eighteen  shillings  a  week,  and  where  would  they 
be  ?  The  Mallorings  have  certain  virtues,  no  doubt, 
natural  to  their  fortunate  environment,  but  of  the 
primitive  virtues  of  patience,  hardihood,  perpetual, 
almost  unconscious  self-sacrifice,  and  cheerfulness 
in  the  face  of  a  hard  fate,  they  are  no  more  the 
equals  of  the  people  they  pretend  to  be  superior 
to  than  I  am  your  equal  as  a  man  of  business." 

"Hang  it!"  was  Stanley's  answer,  "what  a  d — d 
old  heretic  you  are !" 

Felix  frowned.     "Ami?    Be  honest!    Take  the 


THE  FREELANDS  55 

life  of  a  Malloring  and  take  it  at  its  best;  see  how 
it  stands  comparison  in  the  ordinary  virtues  with 
those  of  an  averagely  good  specimen  of  a  farm- 
laborer.  Your  Malloring  is  called  with  a  cup  of 
tea,  at,  say,  seven  o'clock,  out  of  a  nice,  clean, 
warm  bed;  he  gets  into  a  bath  that  has  been  got 
ready  for  him;  into  clothes  and  boots  that  have 
been  brushed  for  him;  and  goes  down  to  a  room 
where  there's  a  fire  burning  already  if  it's  a  cold 
day,  writes  a  few  letters,  perhaps,  before  eating  a 
breakfast  of  exactly  what  he  likes,  nicely  prepared 
for  him,  and  reading  the  newspaper  that  best  com- 
forts his  soul;  when  he  has  eaten  and  read,  he  lights 
his  cigar  or  his  pipe  and  attends  to  his  digestion  in 
the  most  sanitary  and  comfortable  fashion;  then  in 
his  study  he  sits  down  to  steady  direction  of  other 
people,  either  by  interview  or  by  writing  letters, 
or  what  not.  In  this  way,  between  directing  people 
and  eating  what  he  likes,  he  passes  the  whole  day, 
except  that  for  two  or  three  hours,  sometimes  in- 
deed seven  or  eight  hours,  he  attends  to  his  phy- 
sique by  riding,  motoring,  playing  a  game,  or  in- 
dulging in  a  sport  that  he  has  chosen  for  himself. 
And,  at  the  end  of  all  that,  he  probably  has  an- 
other bath  that  has  been  made  ready  for  him,  puts 
on  clean  clothes  that  have  been  put  out  for  him, 
goes  down  to  a  good  dinner  that  has  been  cooked 
for  him,  smokes,  reads,  learns,  and  inwardly  digests, 
or  else  plays  cards,  billiards,  and  acts  host  till  he 
is  sleepy,  and  so  to  bed,  in  a  clean,  warm  bed,  in 
a  clean,  fresh  room.  Is  that  exaggerated?" 


56  THE  FREELANDS 

"No;  but  when  you  talk  of  his  directing  other 
people,  you  forget  that  he  is  doing  what  they 
couldn't." 

"He  may  be  doing  what  they  couldn't;  but  ordi- 
nary directive  ability  is  not  born  in  a  man;  it's 
acquired  by  habit  and  training.  Suppose  fortune 
had  reversed  them  at  birth,  the  Gaunt  or  Tryst 
would  by  now  have  it  and  the  Malloring  would 
not.  The  accident  that  they  were  not  reversed  at 
birth  has  given  the  Malloring  a  thousandfold  ad- 
vantage." 

"It's  no  joke  directing  things,"  muttered  Stanley. 

"No  work  is  any  joke;  but  I  just  put  it  to  you: 
Simply  as  work,  without  taking  in  the  question  of 
reward,  would  you  dream  for  a  minute  of  swapping 
your  work  with  the  work  of  one  of  your  workmen? 
No.  Well,  neither  would  a  Malloring  with  one  of 
his  Gaunts.  So  that,  my  boy,  for  work  which  is 
intrinsically  more  interesting  and  pleasurable,  the 
Malloring  gets  a  hundred  to  a  thousand  times  more 
money." 

"All  this  is  rank  socialism,  my  dear  fellow." 

"No;  rank  truth.  Now,  to  take  the  life  of  a 
Gaunt.  He  gets  up  summer  and  winter  much  ear- 
lier out  of  a  bed  that  he  cannot  afford  time  or 
money  to  keep  too  clean  or  warm,  in  a  small  room 
that  probably  has  not  a  large  enough  window;  into 
clothes  stiff  with  work  and  boots  stiff  with  clay; 
makes  something  hot  for  himself,  very  likely  brings 
some  of  it  to  his  wife  and  children;  goes  out,  at- 
tending to  his  digestion  crudely  and  without  com- 


THE  FREELANDS  57 

fort;  works  with  his  hands  and  feet  from  half  past 
six  or  seven  in  the  morning  till  past  five  at  night, 
except  that  twice  he  stops  for  an  hour  or  so  and 
eats  simple  things  that  he  would  not  altogether 
have  chosen  to  eat  if  he  could  have  had  his  will. 
He  goes  home  to  a  tea  that  has  been  got  ready  for 
him,  and  has  a  clean-up  without  assistance,  smokes 
a  pipe  of  shag,  reads  a  newspaper  perhaps  two  days 
old,  and  goes  out  again  to  work  for  his  own  good, 
in  his  vegetable  patch,  or  to  sit  on  a  wooden  bench 
in  an  atmosphere  of  beer  and  'baccy.'  And  so, 
dead  tired,  but  not  from  directing  other  people,  he 
drowses  himself  to  early  lying  again  in  his  doubt- 
ful bed.  Is  that  exaggerated?" 

"I  suppose  not,  but  he— 

"Has  his  compensations:  Clean  conscience — free- 
dom from  worry — fresh  air,  all  the  rest  of  it !  I  know. 
Clean  conscience  granted,  but  so  has  your  Mallor- 
ing,  it  would  seem.  Freedom  from  worry — yes,  ex- 
cept when  a  pair  of  boots  is  wanted,  or  one  of  the 
children  is  ill;  then  he  has  to  make  up  for  lost  time 
with  a  vengeance.  Fresh  air — and  wet  clothes,  with 
a  good  chance  of  premature  rheumatism.  Candidly, 
which  of  those  two  lives  demands  more  of  the  vir- 
tues on  which  human  life  is  founded — courage  and 
patience,  hardihood  and  self-sacrifice?  And  which 
of  two  men  who  have  lived  those  two  lives  well 
has  most  right  to  the  word  ' superior'?'7 

Stanley  dropped  the  Review  and  for  fully  a  min- 
ute paced  the  room  without  reply.  Then  he  said: 

"Felix,  you're  talking  flat  revolution." 


58  THE  FREELANDS 

Felix,  who,  faintly  smiling,  had  watched  him  up 
and  down,  up  and  down  the  Turkey  carpet,  an- 
swered: 

"Not  so.  I  am  by  no  means  a  revolutionary 
person,  because  with  all  the  good-will  in  the  world 
I  have  been  unable  to  see  how  upheavals  from  the 
bottom,  or  violence  of  any  sort,  is  going  to  equal- 
ize these  lives  or  do  any  good.  But  I  detest  hum- 
bug, and  I  believe  that  so  long  as  you  and  your 
Mallorings  go  on  blindly  dosing  yourselves  with 
humbug  about  duty  and  superiority,  so  long  will 
you  see  things  as  they  are  not.  And  until  you  see 
things  as  they  are,  purged  of  all  that  sickening 
cant,  you  will  none  of  you  really  move  to  make  the 
conditions  of  life  more  and  ever  more  just.  For, 
mark  you,  Stanley,  I,  who  do  not  believe  in  revo- 
lution from  the  bottom,  the  more  believe  that  it 
is  up  to  us  hi  honour  to  revolutionize  things  from 
the  top!" 

"H'm!"  said  Stanley;  "that's  aU  very  weU;  but 
the  more  you  give  the  more  they  want,  till  there's 
no  end  to  it." 

Felix  stared  round  that  room,  where  indeed  one 
was  all  body. 

"By  George,"  he  said,  "I've  yet  to  see  a  begin- 
ning. But,  anyway,  if  you  give  in  a  grudging  spirit, 
or  the  spirit  of  a  schoolmaster,  what  can  you  ex- 
pect? If  you  offer  out  of  real  good- will,  so  it  is 
taken."  And  suddenly  conscious  that  he  had  ut- 
tered a  constructive  phrase,  Felix  cast  down  his 
eyes,  and  added: 


THE  FREELANDS  59 

"I  am  going  to  my  clean,  warm  bed.  Good 
night,  old  man ! " 

When  his  brother  had  taken  up  his  candlestick 
and  gone,  Stanley,  uttering  a  dubious  sound,  sat 
down  on  the  lounge,  drank  deep  out  of  his  tum- 
bler, and  once  more  took  up  his  Review. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  next  day  Stanley's  car,  fraught  with  Felix 
and  a  note  from  Clara,  moved  swiftly  along  the 
grass-bordered  roads  toward  Joyfields.  Lying  back 
on  the  cushioned  seat,  the  warm  air  flying  at  his 
face,  Felix  contemplated  with  delight  his  favorite 
countryside.  Certainly  this  garden  of  England  was 
very  lovely,  its  greenness,  trees,  and  large,  pied, 
lazy  cattle;  its  very  emptiness  of  human  beings 
even  was  pleasing. 

Nearing  Joyfields  he  noted  the  Mallorings'  park 
and  their  long  Georgian  house,  carefully  fronting 
south.  There,  too,  was  the  pond  of  what  village 
there  was,  with  the  usual  ducks  on  it;  and  three 
well-remembered  cottages  in  a  row,  neat  and  trim, 
of  the  old,  thatched  sort,  but  evidently  restored. 
Out  of  the  door  of  one  of  them  two  young  people 
had  just  emerged,  going  in  the  same  direction  as 
the  car.  Felix  passed  them  and  turned  to  look. 
Yes,  it  was  they !  He  stopped  the  car.  They  were 
walking,  with  eyes  straight  before  them,  frowning. 
And  Felix  thought:  '  No  thing  of  Tod  in  either  of 
them;  regular  Celts  ! ' 

The  girPs  vivid,  open  face,  crisp,  brown,  untidy 
hair,  cheeks  brimful  of  color,  thick  lips,  eyes  that 
looked  up  and  out  as  a  Skye  terrier's  eyes  look  out 
of  its  shagginess — indeed,  her  whole  figure  struck 

60 


THE  FREELANDS  61 

Felix  as  almost  frighteningly  vital;  and  she  walked- 
as  if  she  despised  the  ground  she  covered.  The 
boy  was  even  more  arresting.  What  a  strange, 
pale-dark  face,  with  its  black,  uncovered  hair,  its 
straight  black  brows;  what  a  proud,  swan's-eyed, 
thin-lipped,  straight-nosed  young  devil,  marching 
like  a  very  Highlander;  though  still  rather  run-up, 
from  sheer  youthfulness !  They  had  come  abreast 
of  the  car  by  now,  and,  leaning  out,  he  said: 

"You  don't  remember  me,  I'm  afraid!"  The 
boy  shook  his  head.  Wonderful  eyes  he  had !  But 
the  girl  put  out  her  hand. 

"Of  course,  Derek;   it's  Uncle  Felix." 

They  both  smiled  now,  the  girl  friendly,  the 
boy  rather  drawn  back  into  himself.  And  feeling 
strangely  small  and  ill  at  ease,  Felix  murmured: 

"I'm  going  to  see  your  father.  Can  I  give  you 
a  lift  home?" 

The  answer  came  as  he  expected: 

"No,  thanks."  Then,  as  if  to  tone  it  down,  the 
girl  added: 

"We've  got  something  to  do  first.  You'll  find 
him  in  the  orchard." 

She  had  a  ringing  voice,  full  of  warmth.     Lifting 
his  hat,   Felix   passed   on.     They  were  a   couple!  > 
Strange,    attractive,    almost   frightening.     Kirsteen 
had  brought  his  brother  a  formidable  little  brood. 

Arriving  at  the  cottage,  he  went  up  its  mossy 
stones  and  through  the  wicket  gate.  There  was 
little  change,  indeed,  since  the  days  of  Clara's  visit, 
save  that  the  beehives  had  been  moved  farther  out. 


62  THE  FREELANDS 

Nor  did  any  one  answer  his  knock;  and  mindful  of 
the  girl's  words,  "  You'll  find  him  in  the  orchard," 
he  made  his  way  out  among  the  trees.  The  grass 
was  long  and  starred  with  petals.  Felix  wandered 
over  it  among  bees  busy  with  the  apple-blossom. 
At  the  very  end  he  came  on  his  brother,  cutting 
down  a  pear-tree.  Tod  was  in  shirt-sleeves,  his 
brown  arms  bare  almost  to  the  shoulders.  How 
tremendous  the  fellow  was !  What  resounding  and 
terrific  blows  he  was  dealing !  Down  came  the  tree, 
and  Tod  drew  his  arm  across  his  brow.  This  great, 
burnt,  curly-headed  fellow  was  more  splendid  to 
look  upon  than  even  Felix  had  remembered,  and 
so  well  built  that  not  a  movement  of  his  limbs  was 
heavy.  His  cheek-bones  were  very  broad  and  high; 
his  brows  thick  and  rather  darker  than  his  bright 
hair,  so  that  his  deep-set,  very  blue  eyes  seemed  to 
look  out  of  a  thicket;  his  level  white  teeth  gleamed 
from  under  his  tawny  moustache,  and  his  brown, 
unshaven  cheeks  and  jaw  seemed  covered  with  gold 
powder.  Catchrng  sight  of  Felix,  he  came  forward. 

"Fancy,"  he  said,  "old  Gladstone  spending  his 
leisure  cutting  down  trees — of  all  melancholy  jobs !" 

Felix  did  not  quite  know  what  to  answer,  so  he 
put  his  arm  within  his  brother's.  Tod  drew  him 
toward  the  tree. 

"Sit  down!"  he  said.  Then,  looking  sorrowfully 
at  the  pear-tree,  he  murmured: 

"Seventy  years — and  down  in  seven  minutes. 
Now  we  shall  burn  it.  Well,  it  had  to  go.  This  is 
the  third  year  it's  had  no  blossom." 


THE  FREELANDS  63 

His  speech  was  slow,  like  that  of  a  man  accus- 
tomed to  think  aloud.  Felix  admired  him  askance. 
"I  might  live  next  door,"  he  thought,  "for  all  the 
notice  he's  taken  of  my  turning  up!" 

"I  came  over  in  Stanley's  car,"  he  said.  "Met 
your  two  coming  along — fine  couple  they  are!" 

"Ah!"  said  Tod.  And  there  was  something  in 
the  way  he  said  it  that  was  more  than  a  mere  dec- 
laration of  pride  or  of  affection.  Then  he  looked 
at  Felix. 

"What  have  you  come  for,  old  man?" 

Felix  smiled.     Quaint  way  to  put  it ! 

"For  a  talk." 

"Ah!"  said  Tod,  and  he  whistled. 

A  largish,  well-made  dog  with  a  sleek  black  coat, 
white  underneath,  and  a  black  tail  white-tipped, 
came  running  up,  and  stood  before  Tod,  with  its 
head  rather  to  one  side  and  its  yellow-brown  eyes 
saying:  'I  simply  must  get  at  what  you're  think- 
ing, you  know.' 

"Go  and  tell  your  mistress  to  come — Mistress!" 

The  dog  moved  his  tail,  lowered  it,  and  went  off. 

"A  gypsy  gave  him  to  me,"  said  Tod;  "best  dog 
that  ever  lived." 

"Every  one  thinks  that  of  his  own  dog,  old  man." 

"Yes,"  said  Tod;   "but  this  is." 

"He  looks  intelligent." 

"He's  got  a  soul,"  said  Tod.  "The  gypsy  said 
he  didn't  steal  him,  but  he  did." 

"Do  you  always  know  when  people  aren't  speak- 
ing the  truth,  then?" 


64  THE  FREELANDS 

"Yes." 

At  such  a  monstrous  remark  from  any  other 
man,  Felix  would  have  smiled;  but  seeing  it  was 
Tod,  he  only  asked:  "How?" 

"People  who  aren't  speaking  the  truth  look  you 
in  the  face  and  never  move  their  eyes." 

"Some  people  do  that  when  they  are  speaking 
the  truth." 

"Yes;  but  when  they  aren't,  you  can  see  them 
struggling  to  keep  their  eyes  straight.  A  dog  avoids 
your  eye  when  he's  something  to  conceal;  a  man 
stares  at  you.  Listen !" 

Felix  listened  and  heard  nothing. 

"A  wren";  and,  screwing  up  his  lips,  Tod  emitted 
a  sound:  "Look!" 

Felix  saw  on  the  branch  of  an  apple-tree  a  tiny 
brown  bird  with  a  little  beak  sticking  out  and  a 
little  tail  sticking  up.  And  he  thought:  'Tod's 
hopeless ! ' 

"That  fellow,"  said  Tod  softly,  "has  got  his  nest 
there  just  behind  us."  Again  he  emitted  the  sound. 
Felix  saw  the  little  bird  move  its  head  with  a  sort 
of  infinite  curiosity,  and  hop  twice  on  the  branch. 

"I  can't  get  the  hen  to  do  that,"  Tod  murmured. 

Felix  put  his  hand  on  his  brother's  arm — what  an 
arm! 

"Yes,"  he  said;  "but  look  here,  old  man — I  really 
want  to  talk  to  you." 

Tod  shook  his  head.     "Wait  for  her,"  he  said. 

Felix  waited.  Tod  was  getting  awfully  eccentric, 
living  this  queer,  out-of-the-way  life  with  a  cranky 


THE  FREELANDS  65 

woman  year  after  year;  never  reading  anything, 
never  seeing  any  one  but  tramps  and  animals  and 
villagers.  And  yet,  sitting  there  beside  his  eccen- 
tric brother  on  that  fallen  tree,  he  had  an  extraor- 
dinary sense  of  rest.  It  was,  perhaps,  but  the 
beauty  and  sweetness  of  the  day  with  its  dappling 
sunlight  brightening  the  apple-blossoms,  the  wind- 
flowers,  the  wood-sorrel,  and  in  the  blue  sky  above 
the  fields  those  clouds  so  unimaginably  white.  All 
the  tiny  noises  of  the  orchard,  too,  struck  on  his 
ear  with  a  peculiar  meaning,  a  strange  fulness,  as 
if  he  had  never  heard  such  sounds  before.  Tod, 
who  was  looking  at  the  sky,  said  suddenly: 

"Are  you  hungry?" 

And  Felix  remembered  that  they  never  had  any 
proper  meals,  but,  when  hungry,  went  to  the  kitchen, 
where  a  wood-fire  was  always  burning,  and  either 
heated  up  coffee,  and  porridge  that  was  already 
made,  with  boiled  eggs  and  baked  potatoes  and 
apples,  or  devoured  bread,  cheese,  jam,  honey, 
cream,  tomatoes,  butter,  nuts,  and  fruit,  that  were 
always  set  out  there  on  a  wooden  table,  under  a 
muslin  awning;  he  remembered,  too,  that  they 
washed  up  their  own  bowls  and  spoons  and  plates, 
and,  having  finished,  went  outside  and  drew  them- 
selves a  draught  of  water.  Queer  life,  and  deuced 
uncomfortable — almost  Chinese  in  its  reversal  of 
everything  that  every  one  else  wa's  doing. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I'm  not." 

"I  am.     Here  she  is." 

Felix  felt  his  heart  beating — Clara  was  not  alone 


66  THE  FREELANDS 


in 
In, 


in  being  frightened  of  this  woman.  She  was  com- 
ing through  the  orchard  with  the  dog;  a  remarkable- 
looking  woman — oh,  certainly  remarkable !  She 
greeted  him  without  surprise  and,  sitting  down  close 
to  Tod,  said:  "I'm  glad  to  see  you." 

Why  did  this  family  somehow  make  him  feel 
inferior?  The  way  she  sat  there  and  looked  at 
him  so  calmly !  Still  more  the  way  she  narrowed 
her  eyes  and  wrinkled  her  lips,  as  if  rather  mali- 
cious thoughts  were  rising  in  her  soul !  Her  hair, 
as  is  the  way  of  fine,  soft,  almost  indigo-colored 
hair,  was  already  showing  threads  of  silver;  her 
whole  face  and  figure  thinner  than  he  had  remem- 
bered. But  a  striking  woman  still — with  won- 
derful eyes !  Her  dress — Felix  had  scanned  many 
a  crank  in  his  day — was  not  so  alarming  as  it  had 
once  seemed  to  Clara;  its  coarse- woven,  deep -blue 
linen  and  needleworked  yoke  were  pleasing  to  him, 
and  he  could  hardly  take  his  gaze  from  the  king- 
fisher-blue band  or  fillet  that  she  wore  round  that 
silver-threaded  black  hair. 

He  began  by  giving  her  Clara's  note,  the  wording 
of  which  he  had  himself  dictated: 

"DEAR  KIRSTEEN: 

"Though  we  have  not  seen  each  other  for  so  long,  I  am 
sure  you  will  forgive  my  writing.  It  would  give  us  so  much 
pleasure  if  you  and  the  two  children  would  come  over  for 
a  night  or  two  while  Felix  and  his  young  folk  are  staying 
with  us.  It  is  no  use,  I  fear,  to  ask  Tod;  but  of  course  if 
he  would  come,  too,  both  Stanley  and  myself  would  be 
delighted. 

"Yours  cordially, 

"CLARA  FREELAND.* 


THE  FREELANDS  67 

She  read  it,  handed  it  to  Tod,  who  also  read  it 
and  handed  it  to  Felix.  Nobody  said  anything. 
It  was  so  altogether  simple  and  friendly  a  note  that 
Felix  felt  pleased  with  it,  thinking:  (I  expressed 
that  well!' 

Then  Tod  said:  aGo  ahead,  old  man!  You've 
got  something  to  say  about  the  youngsters,  haven't 
you?" 

How  on  earth  did  he  know  that?  But  then  Tod 
had  a  sort  of  queer  prescience. 

"Well,"  he  brought  out  with  an  effort,  "don't 
you  think  it's  a  pity  to  embroil  your  young  people 
in  village  troubles?  We've  been  hearing  from 
Stanley- 

Kirsteen  interrupted  in  her  calm,  staccato  voice 
with  just  the  faintest  lisp: 

"Stanley  would  not  understand." 

She  had  put  her  arm  through  Tod's,  but  never 
removed  her  eyes  from  her  brother-in-law's  face. 

"Possibly,"  said  Felix,  "but  you  must  remember 
that  Stanley,  John,  and  myself  represent  ordinary 
— what  shall  we  say — level-headed  opinion." 

"With  which  we  have  nothing  in  common,  I'm 
afraid." 

Felix  glanced  from  her  to  Tod.  The  fellow  had 
his  head  on  one  side  and  seemed  listening  to  some- 
thing in  the  distance.  And  Felix  felt  a  certain 
irritation. 

"It's  all  very  well,"  he  said,  "but  I  think  you 
really  have  got  to  look  at  your  children's  future 
from  a  larger  point  of  view.  You  don't  surely 


68  THE  FREELANDS 

want  them  to  fly  out  against  things  before  they Ve 
had  a  chance  to  see  life  for  themselves." 

She  answered: 

"The  children  know  more  of  life  than  most  young 
people.  TheyVe  seen  it  close  to,  theyVe  seen  its 
realities.  They  know  what  the  tyranny  of  the 
countryside  means." 

"Yes,  yes/'  said  Felix,  "but  youth  is  youth." 

"They  are  not  too  young  to  know  and  feel  the 
truth." 

Felix  was  impressed.  How  those  narrowing  eyes 
shone!  What  conviction  in  that  faintly  lisping 
voice ! 

'I  am  a  fool  for  my  pains/  he  thought,  and  only 
said: 

"Well,  what  about  this  invitation,  anyway?" 

"Yes;  it  will  be  just  the  thing  for  them  at  the 
moment." 

The  words  had  to  Felix  a  somewhat  sinister  im- 
port. He  knew  well  enough  that  she  did  not  mean 
by  them  what  others  would  have  meant.  But  he 
said:  "When  shall  we  expect  them?  Tuesday,  I 
suppose,  would  be  best  for  Clara,  after  her  week- 
end. Is  there  no  chance  of  you  and  Tod?" 

She  quaintly  wrinkled  her  lips  into  not  quite  a 
smile,  and  answered: 

"Tod  shall  say.     Do  you  hear,  Tod?" 

"In  the  meadow.  It  was  there  yesterday — first 
time  this  year." 

Felix  slipped  his  arm  through  his  brother's. 

"Quite  so,  old  man." 


THE  FREELANDS  69 

"  What  ?"  said  Tod.  "Ah!  let's  go  in.  I'm  aw- 
fully hungry."  .  .  . 

Sometimes  out  of  a  calm  sky  a  few  drops  fall, 
the  twigs  rustle,  and  far  away  is  heard  the  mutter- 
ing of  thunder;  the  traveller  thinks:  '  A  storm  some- 
where about/  Then  all  once  more  is  so  quiet  and 
peaceful  that  he  forgets  he  ever  had  that  thought, 
and  goes  on  his  way  careless. 

So  with  Felix  returning  to  Becket  in  Stanley's 
car.  That  woman's  face,  those  two  young  heathens 
— the  unconscious  Tod ! 

There  was  mischief  in  the  air  above  that  little 
household.  But  once  more  the  smooth  gliding  of 
the  cushioned  car,  the  soft  peace  of  the  meadows 
so  permanently  at  grass,  the  churches,  mansions, 
cottages  embowered  among  their  elms,  the  slow- 
flapping  flight  of  the  rooks  and  crows  lulled  Felix 
to  quietude,  and  the  faint  far  muttering  of  that 
thunder  died  away. 

Nedda  was  in  the  drive  when  he  returned,  gazing 
at  a  nymph  set  up  there  by  Clara.  It  was  a  good 
thing,  procured  from  Berlin,  well  known  for  sculp- 
ture, and  beginning  to  green  over  already,  as  though 
it  had  been  there  a  long  time — a  pretty  creature 
with  shoulders  drooping,  eyes  modestly  cast  down, 
and  a  sparrow  perching  on  her  head. 

"Well,  Dad?" 

"They're  coming." 

"When?" 

"On  Tuesday — the  youngsters,  only." 

"You  might  tell  me  a  little  about  them." 


70  THE  FREELANDS 

But  Felix  only  smiled.  His  powers  of  descrip- 
tion faltered  before  that  task;  and,  proud  of  those 
powers,  he  did  not  choose  to  subject  them  to 
failure. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

NOT  till  three  o'clock  that  Saturday  did  the  Big- 
wigs begin  to  come.  Lord  and  Lady  Britto  first 
from  Erne  by  car;  then  Sir  Gerald  and  Lady  Mal- 
loring,  also  by  car  from  Joyfields;  an  early  after- 
noon train  brought  three  members  of  the  Lower 
House,  who  liked  a  round  of  golf — Colonel  Mart- 
lett,  Mr.  Sleesor,  and  Sir  John  Fanfar — with  their 
wives;  also  Miss  Bawtrey,  an  American  who  went 
everywhere;  and  Moorsome,  the  landscape-painter, 
a  short,  very  heavy  man  who  went  nowhere,  and 
that  in  almost  perfect  silence,  which  he  afterward 
avenged.  By  a  train  almost  sure  to  bring  no  one 
else  came  Literature  in  Public  Affairs,  alor^e,  Henry 
Wiltram,  whom  some  believed  to  have  been  the 
very  first  to  have  ideas  about  the  land.  He  was 
followed  in  the  last  possible  train  by  Cuthcott,  the 
advanced  editor,  in  his  habitual  hurry,  and  Lady 
Maude  Ughtred  in  her  beauty.  Clara  was  pleased, 
and  said  to  Stanley,  while  dressing,  that  almost 
every  shade  of  opinion  about  the  land  was  repre- 
sented this  week-end.  She  was  not,  she  said,  afraid 
of  anything,  if  she  could  keep  Henry  Wiltram  and 
Cuthcott  apart.  The  House  of  Commons  men 
would,  of  course,  be  all  right.  Stanley  assented: 
'•'They'll  be  'fed  up'  with  talk.  But  how  about 

71 


72  THE  FREELANDS 

Britto — he  can  sometimes  be  very  nasty,  and  Cuth- 
cott's  been  pretty  rough  on  him,  in  his  rag." 

Clara  had  remembered  that,  and  she  was  putting 
Lady  Maude  on  one  side  of  Cuthcott,  and  Moor- 
some  on  the  other,  so  that  he  would  be  quite  safe 
at  dinner,  and  afterward — Stanley  must  look  out ! 

"What  have  you  done  with  Nedda?"  Stanley 
asked. 

"Given  her  to  Colonel  Martlett,  with  Sir  John 
Fanfar  on  the  other  side;  they  both  like  some- 
thing fresh."  She  hoped,  however,  to  foster  a  dis- 
cussion, so  that  they  might  really  get  further  this 
week-end;  the  opportunity  was  too  good  to  throw 
away. 

"H'm!"  Stanley  murmured.  "Felix  said  some 
very  queer  things  the  other  night.  He,  too,  might 
make  ructions." 

Oh,  no ! — Clara  persisted — Felix  had  too  much 
good  taste.  She  thought  that  something  might  be 
coming  out  of  this  occasion,  something  as  it  were 
national,  that  would  bear  fruit.  And  watching  Stan- 
ley buttoning  his  braces,  she  grew  enthusiastic. 
For,  think  how  splendidly  everything  was  repre- 
sented! Britto,  with  his  view  that  the  thing  had 
gone  too  far,  and  all  the  little  efforts  we  might 
make  now  were  no  good,  with  Canada  and  those 
great  spaces  to  outbid  anything  we  could  do;  though 
she  could  not  admit  that  he  was  right,  there  was  a 
lot  in  what  he  said;  he  had  great  gifts — and  some 
day  might — who  knew?  Then  there  was  Sir  John 
—Clara  pursued — who  was  almost  the  father  of  the 


THE  FREELANDS  73 

new  Tory  policy:  Assist  the  farmers  to  buy  their 
own  land.  And  Colonel  Martlett,  representing  the 
older  Tory  policy  of:  What  the  devil  would  happen 
to  the  landowners  if  they  did?  Secretly  (Clara  felt 
sure)  he  would  never  go  into  a  lobby  to  support 
that.  He  had  said  to  her:  'Look  at  my  brother 
James's  property;  if  we  bring  this  policy  in,  and 
the  farmers  take  advantage,  his  house  might  stand 
there  any  day  without  an  acre  round  it.'  Quite 
true — it  might.  The  same  might  even  happen  to 
Becket. 

Stanley  grunted. 

Exactly ! — Clara  went  on :  And  that  was  the 
beauty  of  having  got  the  Mallorings;  theirs  was 
such  a  steady  point  of  view,  and  she  was  not  sure 
that  they  weren't  right,  and  the  whole  thing  reajly 
a  question  of  model  proprietorship. 

"H'm !"  Stanley  muttered.  "Felix  will  have  his 
knife  into  that." 

Clara  did  not  think  that  mattered.  The  thing 
was  to  get  everybody's  opinion.  Even  Mr.  Moor- 
some's  would  be  valuable — if  he  weren't  so  ter- 
rifically silent,  for  he  must  think  a  lot,  sitting  all 
day,  as  he  did,  painting  the  land. 

"He's  a  heavy  ass,"  said  Stanley. 

Yes;  but  Clara  did  not  wish  to  be  narrow.  That 
was  why  it  was  so  splendid  to  have  got  Mr.  Sleesor. 
If  anybody  knew  the  Radical  mind  he  did,  and  he 
could  give  full  force  to  what  one  always  felt  was 
at  the  bottom  of  it — that  the  Radicals'  real  sup- 
porters were  the  urban  classes;  so  that  their  pol- 


74  THE  FREELANDS 

icy  must  not  go  too  far  with  'the  Land/  for  fear 
of  seeming  to  neglect  the  towns.  For,  after  all,  in 
the  end  it  was  out  of  the  pockets  of  the  towns  that 
'the  Land'  would  have  to  be  financed,  and  nobody 
really  could  expect  the  towns  to  get  anything  out 
of  it.  Stanley  paused  in  the  adjustment  of  his  tie; 
his  wife  was  a  shrewd  woman. 

"You've  hit  it  there,"  he  said.  "Wiltram  will 
give  it  him  hot  on  that,  though." 

Of  course,  Clara  assented.  And  it  was  magnif- 
icent that  they  had  got  Henry  Wiltram,  with  his 
idealism  and  his  really  heavy  corn  tax;  not  caring 
what  happened  to  the  stunted  products  of  the  towns 
—and  they  truly  were  stunted,  for  all  that  the 
Radicals  and  the  half-penny  press  said — till  at  all 
costs  we  could  grow  our  own  food.  There  was  a 
lot  in  that. 

"Yes,"  Stanley  muttered,  "and  if  he  gets  on  to 
it,  shan't  I  have  a  jolly  tune  of  it  in  the  smoking- 
room?  I  know  what  Cuthcott's  like  with  his  shirt 
out." 

Clara's  eyes  brightened;  she  was  very  curious 
herself  to  see  Mr.  Cuthcott  with  his — that  is,  to 
hear  him  expound  the  doctrine  he  was  always  writ- 
ing up,  namely,  that  'the  Land'  was  gone  and,  short 
of  revolution,  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  garden 
cities.  She  had  heard  he  was  so  cutting  and  fero- 
cious that  he  really  did  seem  as  if  he  hated  his 
opponents.  She  hoped  he  would  get  a  chance — 
perhaps  Felix  could  encourage  him. 

"What  about  the  women?"  Stanley  asked  sud- 


THE  FREELANDS  75 

denly.  "Will  they  stand  a  political  powwow?  One 
must  think  of  them  a  bit." 

Clara  had.  She  was  taking  a  farewell  look  at 
herself  in  the  far-away  mirror  through  the  door  into 
her  bedroom.  It  was  a  mistake — she  added — to 
suppose  that  women  were  not  interested  in  'the 
Land.'  Lady  Britto  was  most  intelligent,  and  Mil- 
dred Malloring  knew  every  cottage  on  her  estate. 

"Pokes  her  nose  into  'em  often  enough/'  Stanley 
muttered. 

Lady  Fanfar  again,  and  Mrs.  Sleesor,  and  even 
Hilda  Martlett,  were  interested  in  their  husbands, 
and  Miss  Bawtrey,  of  course,  interested  in  every- 
thing. As  for  Maude  Ughtred,  all  talk  would  be 
the  same  to  her;  she  was  always  week-ending. 
Stanley  need  not  worry — it  would  be  all  right; 
some  real  work  would  get  done,  some  real  advance 
be  made.  So  saying,  she  turned  her  fine  shoulders 
twice,  once  this  way  and  once  that,  and  went  out. 
She  had  never  told  even  Stanley  her  ambition  that 
at  Becket,  under  her  aegis,  should  be  laid  the  foun- 
dation-stone of  the  real  scheme,  whatever  it  might 
be,  that  should  regenerate  'the  Land.'  Stanley 
would  only  have  laughed;  even  though  it  would 
be  bound  to  make  him  Lord  Freeland  when  it  came 
to  be  known  some  day.  .  .  . 

To  the  eyes  and  ears  of  Nedda  that  evening  at 
dinner,  all  was  new  indeed,  and  all  wonderful.  It 
was  not  that  she  was  unaccustomed  to  society  or 
to  conversation,  for  to  their  house  at  Hampstead 
many  people  came,  uttering  many  words,  but  both 


76  THE  FREELANDS 

the  people  and  the  words  were  so  very  different. 
After  the  first  blush,  the  first  reconnaissance  of  the 
two  Bigwigs  between  whom  she  sat,  her  eyes  would 
stray  and  her  ears  would  only  half  listen  to  them. 
Indeed,  half  her  ears,  she  soon  found  out,  were 
quite  enough  to  deal  with  Colonel  Martlett  and 
Sir  John  Fanfar.  Across  the  azaleas  she  let  her 
glance  come  now  and  again  to  anchor  on  her  father's 
face,  and  exchanged  with  him  a  most  enjoyable 
blink.  She  tried  once  or  twice  to  get  through  to 
Alan,  but  he  was  always  eating;  he  looked  very  like 
a  young  Uncle  Stanley  this  evening. 

What  was  she  feeling?  Short,  quick  stabs  of 
self-consciousness  as  to  how  she  was  looking;  a 
sort  of  stunned  excitement  due  to  sheer  noise  and 
the  number  of  things  offered  to  her  to  eat  and 
drink;  keen  pleasure  in  the  consciousness  that  Colo- 
nel Martlett  and  Sir  John  Fanfar  and  other  men, 
especially  that  nice  one  with  the  straggly  mous- 
tache who  looked  as  if  he  were  going  to  bite,  glanced 
at  her  when  they  saw  she  wasn't  looking.  If  only 
she  had  been  quite  certain  that  it  was  not  because 
they  thought  her  too  young  to  be  there !  She  felt 
a  sort  of  continual  exhilaration,  that  this  was  the 
great  world — the  world  where  important  things  were 
said  and  done,  together  with  an  intense  listening 
expectancy,  and  a  sense  most  unexpected  and  al- 
most frightening,  that  nothing  important  was  being 
said  or  would  be  done.  But  this  she  knew  to  be 
impudent.  On  Sunday  evenings  at  home  people 
talked  about  a  future  existence,  about  Nietzsche, 


THE  FREELANDS  77 

Tolstoy,  Chinese  pictures,  post-impressionism,  and 
would  suddenly  grow  hot  and  furious  about  peace, 
and  Strauss,  justice,  marriage,  and  De  Maupassant, 
and  whether  people  were  losing  their  souls  through 
materialism,  and  sometimes  one  of  them  would  get 
up  and  walk  about  the  room.  But  to-night  the 
only  words  she  could  catch  were  the  names  of  two 
politicians  whom  nobody  seemed  to  approve  of, 
except  that  nice  one  who  was  going  to  bite.  Once 
very  timidly  she  asked  Colonel  Martlett  whether 
he  liked  Strauss,  and  was  puzzled  by  his  answer: 
"Rather;  those  e Tales  of  Hoffmann'  are  rippin', 
don't  you  think?  You  go  to  the  opera  much?" 
She  could  not,  of  course,  know  that  the  thought 
which  instantly  rose  within  her  was  doing  the  gov- 
erning classes  a  grave  injustice — almost  all  of  whom 
save  Colonel  Martlett  knew  that  the  '  Tales  of 
Hoffmann7  were  by  one  Offenbach.  But  beyond 
all  things  she  felt  she  would  never,  never  learn  to 
talk  as  they  were  all  talking — so  quickly,  so  con- 
tinuously, so  without  caring  whether  everybody  or 
only  the  person  they  were  talking  to  heard  what 
they  said.  She  had  always  felt  that  what  you 
said  was  only  meant  for  the  person  you  said  it  to, 
but  here  in  the  great  world  she  must  evidently  not 
say  anything  that  was  not  meant  for  everybody, 
and  she  felt  terribly  that  she  could  not  think  of 
anything  of  that  sort  to  say.  And  suddenly  she 
began  to  want  to  be  alone.  That,  however,  was 
surely  wicked  and  wasteful,  when  she  ought  to  be 
learning  such  a  tremendous  lot;  and  yet,  what  was 


78  THE  FREELANDS 

there  to  learn?  And  listening  just  sufficiently  to 
Colonel  Martlett,  who  was  telling  her  how  great  a 
man  he  thought  a  certain  general,  she  looked  al- 
most despairingly  at  the  one  who  was  going  to  bite. 
He  was  quite  silent  at  that  moment,  gazing  at  his 
plate,  which  was  strangely  empty.  And  Nedda 
thought:  'He  has  jolly  wrinkles  about  his  eyes, 
only  they  might  be  heart  disease;  and  I  like  the 
color  of  his  face,  so  nice  and  yellow,  only  that  might 
be  liver.  But  I  do  like  him — I  wish  I'd  been  sit- 
ting next  to  him;  he  looks  real/  From  that  thought, 
of  the  reality  of  a  man  whose  name  she  did  not 
know,  she  passed  suddenly  into  the  feeling  that 
nothing  else  of  this  about  her  was  real  at  all,  neither 
the  talk  nor  the  faces,  not  even  the  things  she  was 
eating.  It  was  all  a  queer,  buzzing  dream.  Nor 
did  that  sensation  of  unreality  cease  when  her  aunt 
began  collecting  her  gloves,  and  they  trooped  forth 
to  the  drawing-room.  There,  seated  between  Mrs. 
Sleesor  and  Lady  Britto,  with  Lady  Malloring  oppo- 
site, and  Miss  Bawtrey  leaning  over  the  piano  to- 
ward them,  she  pinched  herself  to  get  rid  of  the 
feeling  that,  when  all  these  were  out  of  sight  of 
each  other,  they  would  become  silent  and  have  on 
their  lips  a  little,  bitter  smile.  Would  it  be  like 
that  up  in  their  bedrooms,  or  would  it  only  be  on 
her  (Nedda' s)  own  lips  that  this  little  smile  would 
come?  It  was  a  question  she  could  not  answer; 
nor  could  she  very  well  ask  it  of  any  of  these  ladies. 
She  looked  them  over  as  they  sat  there  talking  and 
felt  very  lonely.  And  suddenly  her  eyes  fell  on  her 
grandmother.  Frances  Freeland  was  seated  half- 


THE  FREELANDS  79 

way  down  the  long  room  in  a  sandalwood  chair, 
somewhat  insulated  by  a  surrounding  sea  of  pol- 
ished floor.  She  sat  with  a  smile  on  her  lips,  quite 
still,  save  for  the  continual  movement  of  her  white 
hands  on  her  black  lap.  To  her  gray  hair  some 
lace  of  Chantilly  was  pinned  with  a  little  diamond 
brooch,  and  hung  behind  her  delicate  but  rather 
long  ears.  And  from  her  shoulders  was  depended  a 
silvery  garment,  of  stuff  that  looked  like  the  mail 
shirt  of  a  fairy,  reaching  the  ground  on  either  side. 
A  tacit  agreement  had  evidently  been  come  to,  that 
she  was  incapable  of  discussing  'the  Land'  or  those 
other  subjects  such  as  the  French  murder,  the  Rus- 
sian opera,  the  Chinese  pictures,  and  the  doings  of 

one,  L ,  whose  fate  was  just  then  in  the  air,  so 

that  she  sat  alone. 

And  Nedda  thought:  'How  much  more  of  a  lady 
she  looks  than  anybody  here!  There's  something 
deep  in  her  to  rest  on  that  isn't  in  the  Bigwigs; 
perhaps  it's  because  she's  of  a  different  generation.' 
And,  getting  up,  she  went  over  and  sat  down  be- 
side her  on  a  little  chair. 

Frances  Freeland  rose  at  once  and  said: 

"Now,  my  darling,  you  can't  be  comfortable  in 
that  tiny  chair.  You  must  take  mine." 

"Oh,  no,  Granny;   please!" 

"Oh,  yes;    but  you  must!     It's  so  comfortable, 
and  I've  simply  been  longing  to  sit  in  the  chair  v 
you're  in.     Now,  darling,  to  please  me!" 

Seeing  that  a  prolonged  struggle  would  follow  if 
she  did  not  get  up,  Nedda  rose  and  changed  chairs. 

"Do  you  like  these  week-ends,  Granny?" 


8o  THE  FREELANDS 

Frances  Freeland  seemed  to  draw  her  smile  more 
resolutely  across  her  face.  With  her  perfect  articu- 
lation, in  which  there  was,  however,  no  trace  of 
bigwiggery,  she  answered: 

"I  think  they're  most  interesting,  darling.  It's 
so  nice  to  see  new  people.  Of  course  you  don't  get 
to  know  them,  but  it's  very  amusing  to  watch,  es- 
pecially the  head-dresses  !"  And  sinking  her  voice: 
"Just  look  at  that  one  with  the  feather  going  straight 
up;  did  you  ever  see  such  a  guy?"  and  she  cackled 
with  a  very  gentle  archness.  Gazing  at  that  almost 
priceless  feather,  trying  to  reach  God,  Nedda  felt  sud- 
denly how  completely  she  was  in  her  grandmother's 
little  camp;  how  entirely  she  disliked  bigwiggery. 

Frances  Freeland's  voice  brought  her  round. 

"Do  you  know,  darling,  I've  found  the  most 
splendid  thing  for  eyebrows  ?  You  just  put  a  little 
on  every  night  and  it  keeps  them  in  perfect  order. 
I  must  give  you  my  little  pot." 

"I  don't  like  grease,  Granny." 

aOh !  but  this  isn't  grease,  darling.  It's  a  special 
thing;  and  you  only  put  on  just  the  tiniest  touch." 

Diving  suddenly  into  the  recesses  of  something, 
she  produced  an  exiguous  round  silver  box.     Priz^ 
ing  it  open,  she  looked  over  her  shoulder  at  the 
'Bigwigs,  then  placed  her  little  finger  on  the  con- 
tents of  the  little  box,  and  said  very  softly: 

"You  just  take  the  merest  touch,  and  you  put  it 
on  like  that,  and  it  keeps  them  together  beautifully. 
Let  me!  Nobody'll  see ! " 

Quite  well  understanding  that  this  was  all  part 


THE  FREELANDS  81 

of  her  grandmother's  passion  for  putting  the  best 
face  upon  things,  and  having  no  belief  in  her  eye- 
brows, Nedda  bent  forward;  but  in  a  sudden  flutter 
of  fear  lest  the  Bigwigs  might  observe  the  operation, 
she  drew  back,  murmuring:  "Oh,  Granny,  darling! 
Not  just  now!" 

At  that  moment  the  men  came  in,  and,  under 
cover  of  the  necessary  confusion,  she  slipped  away 
into  the  window. 

It  was  pitch-black  outside,  with  the  moon  not 
yet  up.  The  bloomy,  peaceful  dark  out  there! 
Wistaria  and  early  roses,  clustering  in,  had  but 
the  ghost  of  color  on  their  blossoms.  Nedda  took 
a  rose  in  her  fingers,  feeling  with  delight  its  soft 
fragility,  its  coolness  against  her  hot  palm.  Here 
in  her  hand  was  a  living  thing,  here  was  a  little 
soul !  And  out  there  in  the  darkness  were  millions 
upon  millions  of  other  little  souls,  of  little  flame- 
like  or  coiled-up  shapes  alive  and  true. 

A  voice  behind  her  said: 

"Nothing  nicer  than  darkness,  is  there?" 

She  knew  at  once  it  was  the  one  who  was  going 
to  bite;  the  voice  was  proper  for  him,  having  a 
nice,  smothery  sound.  And  looking  round  grate- 
fully, she  said: 

"Do  you  like  dinner-parties?" 

It  was  jolly  to  watch  his  eyes  twinkle  and  his 
thin  cheeks  puff  out.  He  shook  his  head  and  mut- 
tered through  that  straggly  moustache: 

"You're  a  niece,  aren't  you?  I  know  your  father. 
He's  a  big  man." 


82  THE  FREELANDS 

Hearing  those  words  spoken  of  her  father,  Nedda 
flushed. 

"Yes,  he  is,"  she  said  fervently. 

Her  new  acquaintance  went  on: 

"He's  got  the  gift  of  truth — can  laugh  at  himself 
as  well  as  others;  that's  what  makes  him  precious. 
These  humming-birds  here  to-night  couldn't  raise  a 
smile  at  their  own  tomfoolery  to  save  their  silly 
souls." 

He  spoke  still  in  that  voice  of  smothery  wrath, 
and  Nedda  thought :  '  He  is  nice ! ' 

"They've  been  talking  about  'the  Land'"— he 
raised  his  hands  and  ran  them  through  his  pal- 
ish hair— "'the  Land!'  Heavenly  Father!  'The 
Land ! '  Why!  Look  at  that  fellow ! " 

Nedda  looked  and  saw  a  man,  like  Richard  Cceur 
de  Lion  in  the  history  books,  with  a  straw-colored 
moustache  just  going  gray. 

"Sir  Gerald  Malloring — hope  he's  not  a  friend  of 
yours !  Divine  right  of  landowners  to  lead  '  the 
Land'  by  the  nose !  And  our  friend  Britto !  " 

Nedda,  following  his  eyes,  saw  a  robust,  quick- 
eyed  man  with  a  suave  insolence  in  his  dark,  clean- 
shaved  face. 

"Because  at  heart  he's  just  a  supercilious  ruffian, 
too  cold-blooded  to  feel,  he'll  demonstrate  that  it's 
no  use  to  feel — waste  of  valuable  time — ha !  valu- 
able ! — to  act  in  any  direction.  And  that's  a  man 
they  believe  things  of.  And  poor  Henry  Wiltram, 
with  his  pathetic:  'Grow  our  own  food — maximum 
use  of  the  land  as  food-producer,  and  let  the  rest 


THE  FREELANDS  83 

take  care  of  itself ! '  As  if  we  weren't  all  long  past 
that  feeble  individualism;  as  if  in  these  days  of 
world  markets  the  land  didn't  stand  or  fall  in  this 
country  as  a  breeding-ground  of  health  and  stamina 
and  nothing  else.  Well,  well!" 

" Aren't  they  really  in  earnest,  then?"  asked 
Nedda  timidly 

"Miss  Freeland,  this  land  question  is  a  perfect 
tragedy.  Bar  one  or  two,  they  all  want  to  make  the 
omelette  without  breaking  eggs;  well,  by  the  tune 
they  begin  to  think  of  breaking  them,  mark  me— 
there'll  be  no  eggs  to  break.  We  shall  be  all  park  and 
suburb.  The  real  men  on  the  land,  what  few  are  left, 
are  dumb  and  helpless;  and  these  fellows  here  for  one 
reason  or  another  don't  mean  business — they'll  talk 
and  tinker  and  top-dress — that's  all.  Does  your 
father  take  any  interest  in  this?  He  could  write 
something  very  nice." 

"He  takes  interest  in  everything,"  said  Nedda. 
"Please  go  on,  Mr. — Mr.—  She  was  terribly 
afraid  he  would  suddenly  remember  that  she  was 
too  young  and  stop  his  nice,  angry  talk. 

"Cuthcott.  I'm  an  editor,  but  I  was  brought 
up  on  a  farm,  and  know  something  about  it.  You 
see,  we  English  are  grumblers,  snobs  to  the  back- 
bone, want  to  be  something  better  than  we  are; 
and  education  nowadays  is  all  in  the  direction  of 
despising  what  is  quiet  and  humdrum.  We  never/ 
were  a  stay-at-home  lot,  like  the  French.  That's 
at  the  back  of  this  business — they  may  treat  it  as 
they  like,  Radicals  or  Tories,  but  if  they  can't  get 


84  THE  FREELANDS 

a  fundamental  change  of  opinion  into  the  national 
mind  as  to  what  is  a  sane  and  profitable  life;  if 
they  can't  work  a  revolution  in  the  spirit  of  our 
education,  they'll  do  no  good.  There'll  be  lots  of 
talk  and  tinkering,  tariffs  and  tommy-rot,  and, 
underneath,  the  land-bred  men  dying,  dying  all 
the  tune.  No,  madam,  industrialism  and  vested 
interests  have  got  us !  Bar  the  most  strenuous  na- 
tional heroism,  there's  nothing  for  it  now  but  the 
garden  city!" 

"Then  if  we  were  all  heroic,  'the  Land'  could 
still  be  saved?" 

Mr.  Cuthcott  smiled. 

"Of 'course  we  might  have  a  European  war  or 
something  that  would  shake  everything  up.  But, 
short  of  that,  when  was  a  country  ever  consciously 
and  homogeneously  heroic — except  China  with  its 
opium?  When  did  it  ever  deliberately  change  the 
spirit  of  its  education,  the  trend  of  its  ideas;  when 
did  it  ever,  of  its  own  free  will,  lay  its  vested  in- 
terests on  the  altar;  when  did  it  ever  say  with  a 
convinced  and  resolute  heart:  'I  will  be  healthy 
and  simple  before  anything.  I  will  not  let  the  love 
of  sanity  and  natural  conditions  die  out  of  me!7 
When,  Miss  Freeland,  when?" 

And,  looking  so  hard  at  Nedda  that  he  almost 
winked,  he  added: 

"You  have  the  advantage  of  me  by  thirty  years. 
You'll  see  what  I  shall  not — the  last  of  the  English 
peasant.  Did  you  ever  read  'Erewhon,'  where  the 
people  broke  up  their  machines?  It  will  take  al- 


THE  FREELANDS  85 

most  that  sort  of  national  heroism  to  save  what's 
left  of  him,  even." 

For  answer,  Nedda  wrinkled  her  brows  horribly. 
Before  her  there  had  come  a  vision  of  the  old,  lame 
man,  whose  name  she  had  found  out  was  Gaunt, 
standing  on  the  path  under  the  apple-trees,  looking 
at  that  little  something  he  had  taken  from  his 
pocket.  Why  she  thought  of  him  thus  suddenly 
she  had  no  idea,  and  she  said  quickly: 

"It's  awfully  interesting.  I  do  so  want  to  hear 
about  'the  Land.'  I  only  know  a  little  about 
sweated  workers,  because  I  see  something  of  them." 

"It's  all  of  a  piece,"  said  Mr.  Cuthcott;  "not  pol- 
itics at  all,  but  religion — touches  the  point  of  na- 
tional self-knowledge  and  faith,  the  point  of  know- 
ing what  we  want  to  become  and  of  resolving  to 
become  it.  Your  father  will  tell  you  that  we  have 
no  more  idea  of  that  at  present  than  a  cat  of  its 
own  chemical  composition.  As  for  these  good  people 
here  to-night— I  don't  want  to  be  disrespectful,  but 
if  they  think  they're  within  a  hundred  miles  of  the 
land  question,  I'm  a — I'm  a  Jingo — more  I  can't 
say." 

And,  as  if  to  cool  his  head,  he  leaned  out  of  the 
window. 

"Nothing  is  nicer  than  darkness,  as  I  said  just 
now,  because  you  can  only  see  the  way  you  must 
go  instead  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  ways  you  might. 
In  darkness  your  soul  is  something  like  your  own; 
in  daylight,  lamplight,  moonlight,  never." 

Nedda's  spirit  gave  a  jump;    he  seemed  almost 


86  THE  FREELANDS 

at  last  to  be  going  to  talk  about  the  things  she 
wanted,  above  all,  to  find  out.  Her  cheeks  went 
yhot,  she  clenched  her  hands  and  said  resolutely: 

"Mr.  Cuthcott,  do  you  believe  in  God?" 

Mr.  Cuthcott  made  a  queer,  deep  little  noise;  it 
was  not  a  laugh,  however,  and  it  seemed  as  if  he 
knew  she  could  not  bear  him  to  look  at  her  just 
then. 

"H'm !"  he  said.  "Every  one  does  that — accord- 
ing to  their  natures.  Some  call  God  IT,  some  HIM, 
some  HER,  nowadays — that's  all.  You  might  as 
well  ask — do  I  believe  that  I'm  alive?" 

"Yes,"  said  Nedda,  "but  which  do  you  call 
God?" 

As  she  asked  that,  he  gave  a  wriggle,  and  it 
flashed  through  her:  'He  must  think  me  an  awful 
enfant  terrible!'  His  face  peered  round  at  her,  queer 
and  pale  and  puffy,  with  nice,  straight  eyes;  and 
she  added  hastily: 

"It  isn't  a  fair  question,  is  it?  Only  you  talked 
about  darkness,  and  the  only  way — so  I  thought— 

"Quite  a  fair  question.  My  answer  is,  of  course: 
'All  three';  but  the  point  is  rather:  Does  one  wish 
to  make  even  an  attempt  to  define  God  to  oneself? 
Frankly,  I  don't !  I'm  content  to  feel  that  there 
is  in  one  some  kind  of  instinct  toward  perfection 
that  one  will  still  feel,  I  hope,  when  the  lights  are 
going  out;  some  kind  of  honour  forbidding  one  to 
let  go  and  give  up.  That's  all  I've  got;  I  really 
don't  know  that  I  want  more." 

Nedda  clasped  her  hands. 


THE  FREELANDS  87 

"I  like  that,"  she  said;  "only — what  is  perfection, 
Mr.  Cuthcott?" 

Again  he  emitted  that  deep  little  sound. 

"Ah!"  he  repeated,  "what  is  perfection?  Awk- 
ward, that— isn't  it?" 

"Is  it" — Nedda  rushed  the  words  out — "is  it 
always  to  be  sacrificing  yourself,  or  is  it — is  it  al- 
ways to  be — to  be  expressing  yourself?" 

"To  some — one;  to  some — the  other;  to  some- 
half  one,  half  the  other." 

"But  which  is  it  to  me?" 

"Ah!  that  youVe  got  to  find  out  for  yourself. 
There's  a  sort  of  metronome  inside  us — wonderful, 
self-adjusting  little  machine;  most  delicate  bit  of 
mechanism  in  the  world — people  call  it  conscience 
—that  records  the  proper  beat  of  our  tempos.  I 
guess  that's  all  we  have  to  go  by." 

Nedda  said  breathlessly: 

"Yes;  and  it's  frightfully  hard,  isn't  it?" 

"Exactly,"  Mr.  Cuthcott  answered.  "That's 
why  people  devised  religions  and  other  ways  of 
having  the  thing  done  second-hand.  We  all  object 
to  trouble  and  responsibility  if  we  can  possibly 
avoid  it.  Where  do  you  live?" 

"In  Hampstead." 

"Your  father  must  be  a  stand-by,  isn't  he?" 

"Oh,  yes;  Dad's  splendid;  only,  you  see,  I  am 
a  good  deal  younger  than  he.  There  was  just  one 
thing  I  was  going  to  ask  you.  Are  these  very 
Bigwigs?" 

Mr.   Cuthcott  turned  to  the  room  and  let  his 


88  THE  FREELANDS 

screwed-up  glance  wander.  He  looked  just  then 
particularly  as  if  he  were  going  to  bite. 

"If  you  take  'em  at  their  own  valuation:  Yes. 
If  at  the  country's:  So-so.  If  at  mine:  Ha!  I 
know  what  you'd  like  to  ask:  Should  I  be  a  Bigwig 
in  their  estimation?  Not  I!  As  you  knock  about, 
Miss  Freeland,  you'll  find  out  one  thing — all  big- 
wiggery  is  founded  on:  Scratch  my  back,  and  I'll 
scratch  yours.  Seriously,  these  are  only  tenpenny 
ones;  but  the  mischief  is,  that  in  the  matter  of 
'the  Land,'  the  men  who  really  are  in  earnest  are 
precious  scarce.  Nothing  short  of  a  rising  such  as 
there  was  in  1832  would  make  the  land  question  real, 
even  for  the  moment.  Not  that  I  want  to  see  one- 
God  forbid !  Those  poor  doomed  devils  were  treated 
worse  than  dogs,  and  would  be  again." 

Before  Nedda  could  pour  out  questions  about  the 
rising  in  1832,  Stanley's  voice  said: 

"Cuthcott,  I  want  to  introduce  you '!" 

Her  new  friend  screwed  his  eyes  up  tighter  and, 
muttering  something,  put  out  his  hand  to  her. 

"Thank  you  for  our  talk.  I  hope  we  shall  meet 
again.  Any  time  you  want  to  know  anything— 
I'll  be  only  too  glad.  Good  night !" 

She  felt  the  squeeze  of  his  hand,  warm  and  dry, 
but  rather  soft,  as  of  a  man  who  uses  a  pen  too 
much;  saw  him  following  her  uncle  across  the 
room,  with  his  shoulders  a  little  hunched,  as  if 
preparing  to  inflict,  and  ward  off,  blows.  And  with 
the  thought :  '  He  must  be  jolly  when  he  gives  them 
©ne ! '  she  turned  once  more  to  the  darkness,  than 


THE  FREELANDS  89 

which  he  had  said  there  was  nothing  nicer.  It 
smelled  of  new-mown  grass,  was  full  of  little  shiv- 
erings  of  leaves,  and  all  colored  like  the  bloom  of  a 
black  grape.  And  her  heart  felt  soothed. 


CHAPTER  IX 

".  .  .  WHEN  I  first  saw  Derek  I  thought  I  should 
never  feel  anything  but  shy  and  hopeless.  In  four 
days,  only  in  four  days,  the  whole  world  is  differ- 
ent. .  .  .  And  yet,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  thun- 
der-storm, I  shouldn't  have  got  over  being  shy  in 
time.  iHe  has  never  loved  anybody — nor  have  I. 
It  can't  often  be  like  that — it  makes  it  solemn. 
There's  a  picture  somewhere — not  a  good  one,  I 
know — of  a  young  Highlander  being  taken  away 
by  soldiers  from  his  sweetheart.  Derek  is  jiery  and 
wild  and  shy  and  proud  and  dark — like  the  man 

~Tn  that  picture.     That  last  day  along  the  hills — 

Along  and  along — with  the  wind  in  our  faces,  I  could 

/have  walked  forever;  and  then  Joyfields  at  the  end ! 

I  Their  mother's  wonderful;  Fin  afraid  of  her.  But 
Uncle  Tod  is  a  perfect  dear.  I  never  saw  any  one 
before  who  noticed  so  many  things  that  I  didn't, 
and  nothing  that  I  did.  I  am  sure  he  has  in  him 
what  Mr.  Cuthcott  said  we  were  all  losing — the 
love  of  simple,  natural  conditions.  And  then,  the 
moment,  when  I  stood  with  Derek  at  the  end  of 
the  orchard,  to  say  good-by.  The  field  below  cov- 
ered with  those  moony-white  flowers,  and  the  cows 
all  dark  and  sleepy;  the  holy  feeling  down  there 
was  wonderful,  and  in  the  branches  over  our  heads, 

90 


THE  FREELANDS  91 

too,  and  the  velvety,  starry  sky,  and  the  dewiness 
against  one's  face,  and  the  great,  broad  silence — it 
was  all  worshipping  something,  and  I  was  wor- 
shipping— worshipping  happiness.  I  was  happy,  and 
I  think  he  was.  Perhaps  I  shall  never  be  so  happy 
again.  When  he  kissed  me  I  didn't  think  the  whole 
world  had  so  much  happiness  in  it.  I  know  now 
that  I'm  not  cold  a  bit;  I  used  to  think  I  was. 
I  believe  I  could  go  with  him  anywhere,  and  do 
anything  he  wanted.  What  would  Dad  think? 
Only  the  other  day  I  was  saying  I  wanted  to  know 
everything.  One  only  knows  through  love.  It's 
love  that  makes  the  world  all  beautiful — makes  it 
like  those  pictures  that  seem  to  be  wrapped  in  gold, 
makes  it  like  a  dream — no,  not  like  a  dream — like 
a  wonderful  tune.  I  suppose  that's  glamour — a 
goldeny,  misty,  lovely  feeling,  as  if  my  soul  were 
wandering  about  with  his — not  in  my  body  at  all. 
I  want  it  to  go  on  and  on  wandering — oh!  I  don't 
want  it  back  in  my  body,  all  hard  and  inquisitive 
and  aching !  I  shall  never  know  anything  so  lovely 
as  loving  him  and  being  loved.  I  don't  want  any- 
thing more — nothing !  Stay  with  me,  please — Hap- 
piness !  Don't  go  away  and  leave^me !  .  .  .  They 
frighten  me,  though;  he  frightens  me — their  ideal- 
ism; wanting  to  do  great  things,  and  fight  for  jus- 
tice. If  only  I'd  been  brought  up  more  like  that 
— but  everything's  been  so  different.  It's  their 
mother,  I  think,  even  more  than  themselves.  I 
seem  to  have  grown  up  just  looking  on  at  life  as 
at  a  show;  watching  it,  thinking  about  it,  trying 


92  THE  FREELANPS 

to  understand — not  living  it  at  all.  I  must  get 
over  that;  I  will.  I  believe  I  can  tell  the  very 
moment  I  began  to  love  him.  It  was  in  the  school- 
room the  second  evening.  Sheila  and  I  were  sitting 
there  just  before  dinner,  and  he  came,  in  a  rage, 
looking  splendid.  'That  footman  put  out  every- 
thing just  as  if  I  were  a  baby — asked  me  for  sus- 
penders to  fasten  on  my  socks;  hung  the  things  on 
a  chair  in  order,  as  if  I  couldn't  find  out  for  myself 
what  to  put  on  first;  turned  the  tongues  of  my 
shoes  out ! — curled  them  over ! '  Then  Derek  looked 
at  me  and  said:  'Do  they  do  that  for  you? — And 
poor  old  Gaunt,  who's  sixty-six  and  lame,  has  three 
shillings  a  week  to  buy  him  everything.  Just  think 
of  that !  If  we  had  the  pluck  of  flies — '  And  he 
clenched  his  fists.  But  Sheila  got  up,  looked  hard 
at  me,  and  said:  'That'll  do,  Derek.'  Then  he 
put  his  hand  on  my  arm  and  said :  '  It's  only  Cousin 
Nedda!'  I  began  to  love  him  then;  and  I  believe 
he  saw  it,  because  I  couldn't  take  my  eyes  away. 
But  it  was  when  Sheila  sang  'The  Red  Sarafan,' 
after  dinner,  that  I  knew  for  certain.  'The  Red 
Sarafan ' — it's  a  wonderful  song,  all  space  and  yearn- 
ing, and  yet  such  calm — it's  the  song  of  the  soul; 
and  he  was  looking  at  me  while  she  sang.  How 
can  he  love  me?  I  am  nothing — no  good  for  any- 
thing !  Alan  calls  him  a  '  run-up  kid,  all  legs  and 
wings.'  Sometimes  I  hate  Alan;  he's  conventional 
and  stodgy — the  funny  thing  is  that  he  admires 
Sheila.  She'll  wake  him  up;  she'll  stick  pins  into 
him.  No,  I  don't  want  Alan  hurt — I  want  every 


THE  FREELANDS  93 

one  in  the  world  to  be  happy,  happy— as  I  am.  .  .  . 
The  next  day  was  the  thunder-storm.  I  never  saw 
lightning  so  near — and  didn't  care  a  bit.  If  he  were 
struck  I  knew  I  should  be;  that  made  it  all  right. 
When  you  love,  you  don't  care,  if  only  the  some- 
thing must  happen  to  you  both.  When  it  was  over, 
and  we  came  out  from  behind  the  stack  and  walked 
home  through  the  fields,  all  the  beasts  looked  at  us 
as  if  we  were  new  and  had  never  been  seen  before; 
and  the  air  was  ever  so  sweet,  and  that  long,  red 
line  of  cloud  low  down  in  the  purple,  and  the  elm- 
trees  so  heavy  and  almost  black.  He  put  his  arm 
round  me,  and  I  let  him.  ...  It  seems  an  age 
to  wait  till  they  come  to  stay  with  us  next  week. 
If  only  Mother  likes  them,  and  I  can  go  and  stay 
at  Joyfields.  Will  she  like  them?  It's  aU  so  dif- 
ferent to  what  it  would  be  if  they  were  ordinary. 
But  if  he  were  ordinary  I  shouldn't  love  him;  it's 
because  there's  nobody  like  him.  That  isn't  a  lov- 
erish  fancy — you  only  have  to  look  at  him  against 
Alan  or  Uncle  Stanley  or  even  Dad.  Everything 
he  does  is  so  different;  the  way  he  walks,  and  the 
way  he  stands  drawn  back  into  himself,  like  a  stag, 
and  looks  out  as  if  he  were  burning  and  smouldering 
inside ;  even  the  way  he  smiles.  Dad  asked  me  what 
I  thought  of  him !  That  was  only  the  second  day. 
I  thought  he  was  too  proud,  then.  And  Dad  said: 
'He  ought  to  be  in  a  Highland  regiment;  pity- 
great  pity!'  He  is  a  fighter,  of  course.  I  don't 
like  fighting,  but  if  I'm  not  ready  to,  he'll  stop 
loving  me,  perhaps.  I've  got  to  learn.  0  Dark- 


94  THE  FREELANDS 

ness  out  there,  help  me !  And  Stars,  help  me !  O 
God,  make  me  brave,  and  I  will  believe  in  you 
forever !  If  you  are  the  spirit  that  grows  in  things 
in  spite  of  everything,  until  they're  like  the  flowers, 
so  perfect  that  we  laugh  and  sing  at  their  beauty, 
grow  in  me,  too;  make  me  beautiful  and  brave; 
then  I  shall  be  fit  for  him,  alive  or  dead;  and  that's 
all  I  want.  Every  evening  I  shall  stand  in  spirit 
with  him  at  the  end  of  that  orchard  in  the  dark- 
ness, under  the  trees  above  the  white  flowers  and 
the  sleepy  cows,  and  perhaps  I  shall  feel  him  kiss 
me  again.  .  .  .  I'm  glad  I  saw  that  old  man 
Gaunt;  it  makes  what  they  feel  more  real  to  me. 
He  showed  me  that  poor  laborer  Tryst,  too,  the 
one  who  mustn't  marry  his  wife's  sister,  or  have 
her  staying  in  the  house  without  marrying  her. 
Why  should  people  interfere  with  others  like  that? 
It  does  make  your  blood  boil !  Derek  and  Sheila 
have  been  brought  up  to  be  in  sympathy  with  the 
poor  and  oppressed.  If  they  had  lived  in  London 
they  would  have  been  even  more  furious,  I  expect. 
And  it's  no  use  my  saying  to  myself  'I  don't  know 
the  laborer,  I  don't  know  his  hardships,'  because 
he  is  really  just  the  country  half  of  what  I  do  know 
and  see,  here  in  London,  when  I  don't  hide  my 
eyes.  One  talk  showed  me  how  desperately  they 
feel;  at  night,  in  Sheila's  room,  when  we  had  gone 
up,  just  we  four.  Alan  began  it;  they  didn't  want 
to,  I  could  see;  but  he  was  criticising  what  some  of 
those  Bigwigs  had  said — the  'Varsity  makes  boys 
awfully  conceited.  It  was  such  a  lovely  night;  we 


THE  FREELANDS  95 

were  all  in  the  big,  long  window.  A  little  bat  kept 
flying  past;  and  behind  the  copper-beech  the  moon 
was  shining  on  the  lake.  Derek  sat  in  the  window- 
sill,  and  when  he  moved  he  touched  me.  To  be 
touched  by  him  gives  me  a  warm  shiver  all  through. 
I  could  hear  him  gritting  his  teeth  at  what  Alan 
said — frightfully  sententious,  just  like  a  newspaper: 
'We  can't  go  into  land  reform  from  feeling,  we  must 
go  into  it  from  reason.'  Then  Derek  broke  out: 
'Walk  through  this  country  as  we've  walked;  see 
the  pigsties  the  people  live  in;  see  the  water  they 
drink;  see  the  tiny  patches  of  ground  they  have; 
see  the  way  their  roofs  let  in  the  rain;  see  their 
peeky  children;  see  their  patience  and  their  hope- 
lessness; see  them  working  day  in  and  day  out, 
and  coming  on  the  parish  at  the  end !  See  all  that, 
and  then  talk  about  reason !  Reason !  It's  the 
coward's  excuse,  and  the  rich  man's  excuse,  for  doing 
nothing.  It's  the  excuse  of  the  man  who  takes 
jolly  good  care  not  to  see  for  fear  that  he  may 
come  to  feel !  Reason  never  does  anything,  it's  too 
reasonable.  The  thing  is  to  act;  then  perhaps  rea- 
son will  be  jolted  into  doing  something.'  But  Sheila 
touched  his  arm,  and  he  stopped  very  suddenly. 
She  doesn't  trust  us.  I  shall  always  be  being  pushed 
away  from  him  by  her.  He's  just  twenty,  and  I  ' 
shall  be  eighteen  in  a  week;  couldn't  we  marry 
now  at  once?  Then,  whatever  happened,  I  couldn't 
be  cut  off  from  him.  If  I  could  tell  Dad,  and  ask 
him  to  help  me !  But  I  can't — it  seems  desecration 
to  talk  about  it,  even  to  Dad.  All  the  way  up 


96  THE  FREELANDS 

in  the  train  to-day,  coming  back  home,  I  was  strug- 
gling not  to  show  anything;  though  it's  hateful  to 
keep  things  from  Dad.  Love  alters  everything;  it 
melts  up  the  whole  world  and  makes  it  afresh. 
Love  is  the  sun  of  our  spirits,  and  it's  the  wind. 
Ah,  and  the  rain,  too !  But  I  won't  think  of  that ! 
I  wonder  if  he's  told  Aunt  Kirsteen !  . 


CHAPTER  X 

WHILE  Nedda  sat,  long  past  midnight,  writing 
her  heart  out  in  her  little,  white,  lilac-curtained 
room  of  the  old  house  above  the  Spaniard's  Road, 
Derek,  of  whom  she  wrote,  was  walking  along  the 
Malvern  hills,  hurrying  upward  in  the  darkness. 
The  stars  were  his  companions;  though  he  was  no 
poet,  having  rather  the  fervid  temper  of  the  born 
swordsman,  that  expresses  itself  in  physical  ecsta- 
sies. He  had  come  straight  out  from  a  stormy  mid- 
night talk  with  Sheila.  What  was  he  doing — had 
been  the  burden  of  her  cry — falling  in  love  just  at 
this  moment  when  they  wanted  all  their  wits  and 
all  their  time  and  strength  for  this  struggle  with 
the  Mallorings?  It  was  foolish,  it  was  weak;  and 
with  a  sweet,  soft  sort  of  girl  who  could  be  no  use. 
Hotly  he  had  answered:  What  business  was  it  of 
hers  ?  As  if  one  fell  in  love  when  one  wished ! 
She  didn't  know — her  blood  didn't  run  fast  enough ! 
Sheila  had  retorted,  "I've  more  blood  in  my  big 
toe  than  Nedda  in  all  her  body !  A  lot  of  use  you'll 
be,  with  your  heart  mooning  up  in  London !"  And 
crouched  together  on  the  end  of  her  bed,  gazing 
fixedly  up  at  him  through  her  hair,  she  had  chanted 
mockingly:  "Here  we  go  gathering  wool  and  stars 
— wool  and  stars — wool  and  stars ! " 

He  had  not  deigned  to  answer,  but  had  gone  out, 

97 


98  THE  FREELANDS 

furious  with  her,  striding  over  the  dark  fields,  scram- 
bling his  way  through  the  hedges  toward  the  high 
loom  of  the  hills.  Up  on  the  short  grass  in  the 
cooler  air,  with  nothing  between  him  and  those 
swarming  stars,  he  lost  his  rage.  It  never  lasted  < 
long — hers  was  more  enduring.  With  the  innate 
lordliness  of  a  brother  he  already  put  it  down  to 
jealousy.  Sheila  was  hurt  that  he  should  want 
any  one  but  her;  as  if  his  love  for  Ned  da  would 
make  any  difference  to  their  resolution  to  get  jus- 
tice for  Tryst  and  the  Gaunts,  and  show  those 
landed  tyrants  once  for  all  that  they  could  not 
ride  roughshod. 

Nedda!  with  her  dark  eyes,  so  quick  and  clear, 
so  loving  when  they  looked  at  him !  Nedda,  soft 
and  innocent,  the  touch  of  whose  lips  had  turned 
his  heart  to  something  strange  within  him,  and 
wakened  such  feelings  of  chivalry!  Nedda!  To 
see  whom  for  half  a  minute  he  felt  he  would  walk 
a  hundred  miles. 

This  boy's  education  had  been  administered  solely 
by  his  mother  till  he  was  fourteen,  and  she  had 
brought  him  up  on  mathematics,  French,  and  hero- 
ism. His  extensive  reading  of  history  had  been  fo- 
cussed  on  the  personality  of  heroes,  chiefly  knights 
errant,  and  revolutionaries.  He  had  carried  the 
worship  of  them  to  the  Agricultural  College,  where 
he  had  spent  four  years;  and  a  rather  rough  time 
there  had  not  succeeded  in  knocking  romance  out 
of  him.  He  had  found  that  you  could  not  have 
such  beliefs  comfortably  without  fighting  for  them, 


THE  FREELANDS  99 

and  though  he  ended  his  career  with  the  reputa- 
tion of  a  rebel  and  a  champion  of  the  weak,  he 
had  had  to  earn  it.  To  this  day  he  still  fed  himself 
on  stories  of  rebellions  and  fine  deeds.  The  figures 
of  Spartacus,  Montrose,  Hofer,  Garibaldi,  Hamp- 
den,  and  John  Nicholson,  were  more  real  to  him 
than  the  people  among  whom  he  lived,  though  he 
had  learned  never  to  mention — especially  not  to 
the  matter-of-fact  Sheila — his  encompassing  cloud 
of  heroes;  but,  when  he  was  alone,  he  pranced  a  bit 
with  them,  and  promised  himself  that  he  too  would 
reach  the  stars.  So  you  may  sometimes  see  a  little, 
grave  boy  walking  through  a  field,  unwatched  as 
he  believes,  suddenly  fling  his  feet  and  his  head 
every  which  way.  An  active  nature,  romantic, 
without  being  dreamy  and  book-loving,  is  not  too 
prone  to  the  attacks  of  love;  such  a  one  is  likely 
to  survive  unscathed  to  a  maturer  age.  But  Nedda 
had  seduced  him,  partly  by  the  appeal  of  her  touch- 
ingly  manifest  love  and  admiration,  and  chiefly  by 
her  eyes,  through  which  he  seemed  to  see  such  a 
loyal,  and  loving  little  soul  looking.  She  had  that 
indefinable  something  which  lovers  know  that  they 
can  never  throw  away.  And  he  had  at  once  made 
of  her,  secretly,  the  crown  of  his  active  romanti- 
cism— the  lady  waiting  for  the  spoils  of  his  lance. 
Queer  is  the  heart  of  a  boy— strange  its  blending 
of  reality  and  idealism ! 

Climbing  at  a  great  pace,  he  reached  Malvern 
Beacon  just  as  it  came  dawn,  and  stood  there  on 
the  top,  watching.  He  had  not  much  aesthetic 


ioo  THE  FREELANDS 

sense;  but  he  had  enough  to  be  impressed  by  the 
slow  paling  of  the  stars  over  space  that  seemed 
infinite,  so  little  were  its  dreamy  confines  visible 
in  the  May  morning  haze,  where  the  quivering 
crimson  flags  and  spears  of  sunrise  were  forging  up 
in  a  march  upon  the  sky.  That  vision  of  the  English 
land  at  dawn,  wide  and  mysterious,  hardly  tallied 
with  Mr.  Cuthcott's  view  of  a  future  dedicate  to 
Park  and  Garden  City.  While  Derek  stood  there 
gazing,  the  first  lark  soared  up  and  began  its  ec- 
static praise.  Save  for  that  song,  silence  possessed 
all  the  driven  dark,  right  out  to  the  Severn  and  the 
sea,  and  the  fastnesses  of  the  Welsh  hills,  and  the 
Wrekin,  away  in  the  north,  a  black  point  in  the 
gray.  For  a  moment  dark  and  light  hovered  and 
clung  together.  Would  victory  wing  back  into 
night  or  on  into  day?  Then,  as  a  town  is  taken, 
all  was  over  in  one  overmastering  rush,  and  light 
proclaimed.  Derek  tightened  his  belt  and  took  a 
bee-line  down  over  the  slippery  grass.  He  meant 
to  reach  the  cottage  of  the  laborer  Tryst  before 
that  early  bird  was  away  to  the  fields.  He  medi- 
tated as  he  went.  Bob  Tryst  was  all  right !  If 
they  only  had  a  dozen  or  two  like  him !  A  dozen 
or  two  whom  they  could  trust,  and  who  would 
trust  each  other  and  stand  firm  to  form  the  nu- 
cleus of  a  strike,  which  could  be  timed  for  hay  har- 
vest. What  slaves  these  laborers  still  were !  If 
only  they  could  be  relied  on,  if  only  they  would 
stand  together!  Slavery!  It  was  slavery;  so  long 
as  they  could  be  turned  out  of  their  homes  at  will 


THE  FREELANDS  iCt 

in  this  fashion.  His  rebellion  against  the  conditions 
of  their  lives,  above  all  against  the  manifold  petty 
tyrannies  that  he  knew  they  underwent,  came  from 
use  of  his  eyes  and  ears  in  daily  contact  with  a 
class  among  whom  he  had  been  more  or  less  brought 
up.  In  sympathy  with,  and  yet  not  of  them,  he  had 
the  queer  privilege  of  feeling  their  slights  as  if  they 
were  his  own,  together  with  feelings  of  protection, 
and  even  of  contempt  that  they  should  let  them- 
selves be  slighted.  He  was  near  enough  to  under- 
stand how  they  must  feel;  not  near  enough  to 
understand  why,  feeling  as  they  did,  they  did  not 
act  as  he  would  have  acted.  In  truth,  he  knew 
them  no  better  than  he  should. 

He  found  Tryst  washing  at  his  pump.  In  the 
early  morning  light  the  big  laborer's  square,  stub- 
born face,  with  its  strange,  dog-like  eyes,  had  a 
sodden,  hungry,  lost  look.  Cutting  short  ablutions 
that  certainly  were  never  protracted,  he  welcomed 
Derek,  and  motioned  him  to  pass  into  the  kitchen. 
The  young  man  went  in,  and  perched  himself  on 
the  window-sill  beside  a  pot  of  Bridal  Wreath. 
The  cottage  was  one  of  the  Mallorings',  and  re- 
cently repaired.  A  little  fire  was  burning,  and  a 
teapot  of  stewed  tea  sat  there  beside  it.  Four  cups 
and  spoons  and  some  sugar  were  put  out  on  a  deal 
table,  for  Tryst  was,  in  fact,  brewing  the  morning 
draught  of  himself  and  children,  who  still  lay  abed 
up-stairs.  The  sight  made  Derek  shiver  and  his 
eyes  darken.  He  knew  the  full  significance  of  what 
he  saw. 


THE  FREELANDS 

"Did  you  ask  him  again,  Bob?" 

"Yes,  I  asked  'im." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"Said  as  orders  was  plain.  'So  long  as  you  lives 
there/  he  says,  c  along  of  yourself  alone,  you  can't 
have  her  come  back/' 

"Did  you  say  the  children  wanted  looking  after 
badly  ?  Did  you  make  it  clear  ?  Did  you  say  Mrs. 
Tryst  wished  it,  before  she " 

"I  said  that." 

"What  did  he  say  then?" 

"'  Sorry  for  you,  m'lad,  but  them's  m'lady's 
orders,  an'  I  can't  go  contrary.  I  don't  wish  to 
go  into  things,'  he  says;  'you  know  better'n  I  how 
far  'tis  gone  when  she  was  'ere  before;  but  seein' 
as  m'lady  don't  never  give  in  to  deceased  wife's 
sister  marryin',  if  she  come  back  'tis  certain  to  be 
the  other  thing.  So,  as  that  won't  do  neither,  you 
go  elsewhere,'  he  says." 

Having  spoken  thus  at  length,  Tryst  lifted  the 
teapot  and  poured  out  the  dark  tea  into  the  three 
cups. 

"Will  'ee  have  some,  sir?" 

Derek  shook  his  head. 

Taking  the  cups,  Tryst  departed  up  the  narrow 
stairway.  And  Derek  remained  motionless,  staring 
at  the  Bridal  Wreath,  till  the  big  man  came  down 
again  and,  retiring  into  a  far  corner,  sat  sipping  at 
his  own  cup. 

"Bob,"  said  the  boy  suddenly,  "do  you  like  being 
a  dog;  put  to  what  company  your  master  wishes?" 


THE  FREELANDS  103 

Tryst  set  his  cup  down,  stood  up,  and  crossed  his 
thick  arms — the  swift  movement  from  that  stolid 
creature  had  in  it  something  sinister;  but  he  did 
not  speak. 

"Do  you  like  it,  Bob?" 

"I'll  not  say  what  I  feels,  Mr.  Derek;  that's  for 
me.  What  I  does'll  be  for  others,  p'raps." 

And  he  lifted  his  strange,  lowering  eyes  to  Derek's. 
For  a  full  minute  the  two  stared,  then  Derek  said: 

"Look  out,  then;  be  ready!"  and,  getting  off 
the  sill,  he  went  out. 

On  the  bright,  slimy  surface  of  the  pond  three 
ducks  were  quietly  revelling  in  that  hour  before 
man  and  his  damned  soul,  the  dog,  rose  to  put  the 
fear  of  God  into  them.  In  the  sunlight,  against 
the  green  duckweed,  their  whiteness  was  truly  mar- 
vellous; difficult  to  believe  that  they  were  not  white 
all  through.  Passing  the  three  cottages,  in  the  last 
of  which  the  Gaunts  lived,  he  came  next  to  his 
own  home,  but  did  not  turn  in,  and  made  on  to- 
ward the  church.  It  was  a  very  little  one,  very- 
old,  and  had  for  him  a  curious  fascination,  never 
confessed  to  man  or  beast.  To  his  mother,  and 
Sheila,  more  intolerant,  as  became  women,  that  little, 
lichened,  gray  stone  building  was  the  very  emblem 
of  hypocrisy,  of  a  creed  preached,  not  practised; 
to  his  father  it  was  nothing,  for  it  was  not  alive, 
and  any  tramp,  dog,  bird,  or  fruit-tree  meant  far 
more.  But  in  Derek  it  roused  a  peculiar  feeling, 
such  as  a  man  might  have  gazing  at  the  shores  of 
a  native  country,  out  of  which  he  had  been  thrown 


104  THE  FREELANDS 

for  no  fault  of  his  own — a  yearning  deeply  muffled  up 
in  pride  and  resentment.  Not  infrequently  he  would 
come  and  sit  brooding  on  the  grassy  hillock  just 
above  the  churchyard.  Church-going,  with  its  pag- 
eantry, its  tradition,  dogma,  and  demand  for  blind 
devotion,  would  have  suited  him  very  well,  if  only 
blind  devotion  to  his  mother  had  not  stood  across 
that  threshold;  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  bow 
to  that  which  viewed  his  rebellious  mother  as  lost. 
And  yet  the  deep  fibres  of  heredity  from  her  papis- 
tic Highland  ancestors,  and  from  old  pious  More- 
tons,  drew  him  constantly  to  this  spot  at  times 
when  no  one  would  be  about.  It  was  his  enemy, 
this  little  church,  the  fold  of  all  the  instincts  and 
all  the  qualities  against  which  he  had  been  brought 
up  to  rebel;  the  very  home  of  patronage  and  prop- 
erty and  superiority;  the  school  where  his  friends 
the  laborers  were  taught  their  place !  And  yet  it 
had  that  queer,  ironical  attraction  for  him.  In  some 
such  sort  had  his  pet  hero  Montrose  rebelled,  and 
then  been  drawn  despite  himself  once  more  to  the 
side  of  that  against  which  he  had  taken  arms. 

While  he  leaned  against  the  rail,  gazing  at  that 
ancient  edifice,  he  saw  a  girl  walk  into  the  church- 
yard at  the  far  end,  sit  down  on  a  gravestone,  and 
begin  digging  a  little  hole  in  the  grass  with  the  toe 
of  her  boot.  She  did  not  seem  to  see  him,  and  at 
his  ease  he  studied  her  face,  one  of  those  broad, 
bright  English  country  faces  with  deep-set  rogue 
eyes  and  red,  thick,  soft  lips,  smiling  on  little  prov- 
ocation. In  spite  of  her  disgrace,  in  spite  of  the 


THE  FREELANDS  105 

fact  that  she  was  sitting  on  her  mother's  grave,  she 
did  not  look  depressed.  And  Derek  thought:  'Wil- 
met  Gaunt  is  the  jolliest  of  them  all !  She  isn't  a 
bit  a  bad  girl,  as  tjiey  say;  it's  only  that  she  must 
have  fun.  If  they  drive  her  out  of  here,  she'll  still 
want  fun  wherever  she  is;  she'll  go  to  a  town  and 
end  up  like  those  girls  I  saw  in  Bristol.'  And  the 
memory  of  those  night  girls,  with  their  rouged 
faces  and  cringing  boldness,  came  back  to  him  with 
horror. 
-He  went  across  the  grass  toward  her. 

She  looked  round  as  he  came,  and  her  face  livened. 

"Well,  Wilmet?" 

"You're  an  early  bird,  Mr.  Derek." 

"Haven't  been  to  bed." 

"Oh!" 

"Been  up  Malvern  Beacon  to  see  the  sun  rise." 

"You're  tired,  I  expect!" 

"No." 

"Must  be  fine  up  there.  You'd  see  a  long  ways 
from  there;  near  to  London  I  should  think.  Do 
you  know  London,  Mr.  Derek?" 

"No."    . 

"They  say  'tis  a  funny  place,  too."  Her  rogue 
eyes  gleamed  from  under  a  heavy  frown.  "It'd 
not  be  all  'Do  this'  an'  'Do  that';  an'  'You  bad 
girl'  an'  'You  little  hussy!'  in  London.  They  say 
there's  room  for  more'n  one  sort  of  girl  there." 

"All  towns  are  beastly  places,  Wilmet." 

Again  her  rogue's  eyes  gleamed.  "I  don'  know 
so  much  about  that,  Mr.  Derek.  I'm  going  where 


io6  THE  FREELANDS 

I  won't  be  chivied  about  and  pointed  at,  like  what 
I  am  here." 

"Your  dad's  stuck  to  you;  you  ought  to  stick 
to  him." 

"Ah,  Dad!  He's  losin'  his  place  for  me,  but 
that  don't  stop  his  tongue  at  home.  'Tis  no  use 
to  nag  me — nag  me.  Suppose  one  of  m'lady's 
daughters  had  a  bit  of  fun — they  say  there's  lots 
as  do — I've  heard  tales — there'd  be  none  comin'  to 
chase  her  out  of  her  home.  'No,  my  girl,  you  can't 
live  here  no  more,  endangerin'  the  young  men. 
You  go  away.  Best  for  you's  where  they'll  teach 
you  to  be'ave.  Go  on!  Out  with  you!  I  don't 
care  where  you  go;  but  you  just  go!'  'Tis  as  if 
girls  were  all  pats  o'  butter — same  square,  same 
pattern  on  it,  same  weight,  an'  all." 

Derek  had  come  closer;  he  put  his  hand  down 
and  gripped  her  arm.  Her  eloquence  dried  up  be- 
fore the  intentness  of  his  face,  and  she  just  stared 
up  at  him. 

"Now,  look  here,  Wilmet;  you  promise  me  not 
to  scoot  without  letting  us  know.  We'll  get  you 
a  place  to  go  to.  Promise." 

A  little  sheepishly  the  rogue-girl  answered: 

"I  promise;   only,  I'm  goin'." 

Suddenly  she  dimpled  and  broke  into  her  broad 
smile. 

"Mr.  Derek,  d'you  know  what  they  say — they 
say  you're  in  love.  You  was  seen  in  th'  orchard. 
Ah !  'tis  all  right  for  you  and  her !  But  if  any  one 
kiss  and  hug  me,  I  got  to  go !" 


THE  FREELANDS  107 

Derek  drew  back  among  the  graves,  as  if  he  had 
been  struck  with  a  whip. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  coaxing  sweetness. 

"Don't  you  mind  me,  Mr.  Derek,  and  don't 
you  stay  here  neither.  If  they  saw  you  here  with 
me,  they'd  say:  'Aw — look!  Endangerin'  another 
young  man — poor  young  man!'  Good  mornin', 
Mr.  Derek!" 

The  rogue  eyes  followed  him  gravely,  then  once 
more  began  examining  the  grass,  and  the  toe  of  her 
boot  again  began  kicking  a  little  hole.  But  Derek 
did  not  look  back. 


CHAPTER  XI 

IT  is  in  the  nature  of  men  and  angels  to  pursue 
with  death  such  birds  as  are  uncommon,  such  ani- 
mals as  are  rare;  and  Society  had  no  use  for  one 
like  Tod,  so  uncut  to  its  pattern  as  to  be  practi- 
cally unconscious  of  its  existence.  Not  that  he  had 
deliberately  turned  his  back  on  anything;  he  had 
merely  begun  as  a  very  young  man  to  keep  bees. 
The  better  to  do  that  he  had  gone  on  to  the  cul- 
tivation of  flowers  and  fruit,  together  with  just 
enough  farming  as  kept  his  household  in  vegetables, 
milk,  butter,  and  eggs.  Living  thus  amongst  in- 
sects, birds,  cows,  and  the  peace  of  trees,  he  had 
become  queer.  His  was  not  a  very  reflective  mind, 
it  distilled  but  slowly  certain  large  conclusions,  and 
followed  intently  the  minute  happenings  of  his  little 
world.  To  him  a  bee,  a  bird,  a  flower,  a  tree  was 
well-nigh  as  interesting  as  a  man;  yet  men,  women, 
and  especially  children  took  to  him,  as  one  takes 
to  a  Newfoundland  dog,  because,  though  capable  of 
anger,  he  seemed  incapable  of  contempt,  and  to  be 
endowed  with  a  sort  of  permanent  wonder  at  things. 
Then,  too,  he  was  good  to  look  at,  which  counts 
for  more  than  a  little  in  the  scales  of  our  affections; 
indeed,  the  slight  air  of  absence  in  his  blue  eyes 
was  not  chilUng,  as  is  that  which  portends  a  wan- 

108 


THE  FREELANDS  109 

dering  of  its  owner  on  his  own  business.  People 
recognized  that  it  meant  some  bee  or  other  in  that 
bonnet,  or  elsewhere,  some  sound  or  scent  or  sight 
of  life,  suddenly  perceived — always  of  life !  He  had 
often  been  observed  gazing  with  peculiar  gravity  at 
a  dead  flower,  bee,  bird,  or  beetle,  and,  if  spoken 
to  at  such  a  moment,  would  say,  "Gone!"  touch- 
ing a  wing  or  petal  with  his  finger.  To  conceive 
of  what  happened  after  death  did  not  apparently 
come  within  the  few  large  conclusions  of  his  reflec- 
tive powers.  That /quaint  grief  of  his  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  death  pf  things  that  were  not  human 
had,  more  than  anything,  fostered  a  habit  among 
the  gentry  and  clergy  of  the  neighborhood  of  draw- 
ing up  the  mouth  when  they  spoke  of  him,  and 
slightly  raising  the  shoulders.  For  the  cottagers, 
to  be  sure,  his  eccentricity  consisted  rather  in  his 
being  a  'gentleman/  yet  neither  eating  flesh,  drink- 
ing wine,  nor  telling  them  how  they  ought  to  be- 
have themselves,  together  with  the  way  he  would 
sit  down  on  anything  and  listen  to  what  they  had 
to  tell  him,  without  giving  them  the  impression 
that  he  was  proud  of  himself  for  doing  so.  In  fact, 
it  was  the  extraordinary  impression  he  made  of 
listening  and  answering  without  wanting  anything 
either  for  himself  or  for  them,  that  they  could  not 
understand.  How  on  earth  it  came  about  that  he 
did  not  give  them  advice  about  their  politics,  reli- 
gion, morals,  or  monetary  states,  was  to  them  a 
never-ending  mystery;  and  though  they  were  too 
well  bred  to  shrug  their  shoulders,  there  did  lurk 


no  THE  FREELANDS 

in  their  dim  minds  the  suspicion  that  'the  good 
gentleman/  as  they  called  him,  was  'a  tiddy-bit 
off.'  He  had,  of  course,  done  many  practical  little 
things  toward  helping  them  and  their  beasts,  but 
always,  as  it  seemed,  by  accident,  so  that  they 
could  never  make  up  their  minds  afterward  whether 
he  remembered  having  done  them,  which,  in  fact, 
he  probably  did  not;  and  this  seemed  to  them  per- 
haps the  most  damning  fact  of  all  about  his  being 
—well,  about  his  being — not  quite  all  there.  An- 
other worrying  habit  he  had,  too,  that  of  apparently 
not  distinguishing  between  them  and  any  tramps 
or  strangers  who  might  happen  along  and  come 
across  him.  This  was,  in  their  eyes,  undoubtedly 
a  fault;  for  the  village  was,  after  all,  their  village, 
and  he,  as  it  were,  their  property.  To  crown  all, 
there  was  a  story,  full  ten  years  old  now,  which  had 
lost  nothing  in  the  telling,  of  his  treatment  of  a 
cattle-drover.  To  the  village  it  had  an  eerie  look, 
that  windmill-like  rage  let  loose  upon  a  man  who, 
after  all,  had  only  been  twisting  a  bullock's  tail  and 
running  a  spiked  stick  into  its  softer  parts,  as  any 
drover  might.  People  said — the  postman  and  a 
wagoner  had  seen  the  business,  raconteurs  born,  so 
that  the  tale  had  perhaps  lost  nothing — that  he 
had  positively  roared  as  he  came  leaping  down 
into  the  lane  upon  the  man,  a  stout  and  thick-set 
fellow,  taken  him  up  like  a  baby,  popped  him  into 
a  furzebush,  and  held  him  there.  People  said  that 
his  own  bare  arms  had  been  pricked  to  the  very 
shoulder  from  pressing  the  drover  down  into  that 


THE  FREELANDS  in 

uncompromising  shrub,  and  the  man's  howls  had 
pierced  the  very  heavens.  The  postman,  to  this 
day,  would  tell  how  the  mere  recollection  of  seeing 
it  still  made  him  sore  all  over.  Of  the  words  as- 
signed to  Tod  on  this  occasion,  the  mildest  and 
probably  most  true  were:  "By  the  Lord  God,  if 
you  treat  a  beast  like  that  again,  I'll  cut  your  liver 
out,  you  hell-hearted  sweep!" 

The  incident,  which  had  produced  a  somewhat 
marked  effect  in  regard  to  the  treatment  of  animals 
all  round  that  neighborhood,  had  never  been  for- 
gotten, nor  in  a  sense  forgiven.  In  conjunction 
with  the  extraordinary  peace  and  mildness  of  his 
general  behavior,  it  had  endowed  Tod  with  ntys- 
tery;  and  people,  especially  simple  folk,  cannot 
bring  themselves  to  feel  quite  at  home  with  mys- 
tery. Children  only — to  whom  everything  is  so 
mysterious  that  nothing  can  be — treated  him  as  he 
treated  them,  giving  him  their  hands  with  confi- 
dence. But  children,  even  his  own,  as  they  grew 
up,  began  to  have  a  little  of  the  village  feeling 
toward  Tod;  his  world  was  not  theirs,  and  what 
exactly  his  world  was  they  could  not  grasp.  Pos- 
sibly it  was  the  sense  that  they  partook  of  his  in- 
terest and  affection  too  much  on  a  level  with  any 
other  kind  of  living  thing  that  might  happen  to  be 
about,  which  discomfited  their  understanding.  They 
held  him,  however,  in  a  certain  reverence. 

That  early  morning  he  had  already  done  a  good 
two  hours'  work  in  connection  with  broad  beans, 
of  which  he  grew,  perhaps,  the  best  in  the  whole 


H2  THE  FREELANDS 

county,  and  had  knocked  off  for  a  moment,  to 
examine  a  spider's  web.  This  marvellous  creation, 
which  the  dew  had  visited  and  clustered  over,  as 
stars  over  the  firmament,  was  hung  on  the  gate  of 
the  vegetable  garden,  and  the  spider,  a  large  and 
active  one,  was  regarding  Tod  with  the  misgiving 
natural  to  its  species.  Intensely  still  Tod  stood, 
absorbed  in  contemplation  of  that  bright  and  dusty 
miracle.  Then,  taking  up  his  hoe  again,  he  went 
back  to  the  weeds  that  threatened  his  broad  beans. 
Now  and  again  he  stopped  to  listen,  or  to  look  at 
the  sky,  as  is  the  way  of  husbandmen,  thinking  of 
nothing,  enjoying  the  peace  of  his  muscles. 

" Please,  sir,  father's  got  into  a  fit  again." 

Two  little  girls  were  standing  in  the  lane  below. 
The  elder,  who  had  spoken  in  that  small,  anxious 
voice,  had  a  pale  little  face  with  pointed  chin;  her 
hair,  the  color  of  over-ripe  corn,  hung  fluffy  on  her 
thin  shoulders,  her  flower-like  eyes,  with  something 
motherly  in  them  already,  were  the  same  hue  as 
her  pale-blue,  almost .  clean,  overall.  She  had  her 
smaller,  chubbier  sister  by  the  hand,  and,  having 
delivered  her  message,  stood  still,  gazing  up  at 
Tod,  as  one  might  at  God.  Tod  dropped  his  hoe. 

"Biddy  come  with  me;  Susie  go  and  tell  Mrs. 
Freeland,  or  Miss  Sheila." 

He  took  the  frail  little  hand  of  the  elder  Tryst 
and  ran.  They  ran  at  the  child's  pace,  the  one  so 
very  massive,  the  other  such  a  whiff  of  flesh  and 
blood. 

"Did  you  come  at  once,  Biddy?" 


THE  FREELANDS  113 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Where  was  he  taken?" 

"In  the  kitchen— just  as  I  was  cookin'  breakfast." 

"Ah!    Is  it  a  bad  one?" 

"Yes,  sir,  awful  bad — he's  all  foamy." 

"What  did  you  do  for  it?" 

"Susie  and  me  turned  him  over,  and  Billy's  seein' 
he  don't  get  his  tongue  down  his  throat — like  what 
you  told  us,  and  we  ran  to  you.  Susie  was  fright- 
ened, he  hollered  so." 

Past  the  three  cottages,  whence  a  woman  at  a 
window  stared  in  amaze  to  see  that  queer  couple 
running,  past  the  pond  where  the  ducks,  whiter  than 
ever  in  the  brightening  sunlight,  dived  and  circled 
carelessly,  into  the  Tryst  kitchen.  There  on  the 
brick  floor  lay  the  distressful  man,  already  (  strug- 
gling back  out  of  epilepsy,  while  his  little  frightened 
son  sat  manfully  beside  him. 

"Towels,  and  hot  water,  Biddy!" 

With  extraordinary  calm  rapidity  the  small  crea- 
ture brought  what  might  have  been  two  towels,  a 
basin,  and  the  kettle;  and  in  silence  she  and  Tod 
steeped  his  forehead. 

"Eyes  look  better,  Biddy?" 

"He  don't  look  so  funny  now,  sir." 

Picking  up  that  form,  almost  as  big  as  his  own, 
Tod  carried  it  up  impossibly  narrow  stairs  and  laid 
it  on  a  dishevelled  bed. 

"Phew !     Open  the  window,  Biddy." 

The  small  creature  opened  what  there  was  of 
window. 


H4  THE  FREELANDS 

"Now,  go  down  and  heat  two  bricks  and  wrap 
them  in  something,  and  bring  them  up." 

Tryst's  boots  and  socks  removed,  Tod  rubbed 
the  large,  warped  feet.  While  doing  this  he  whis- 
tled, and  the  little  boy  crept  up -stairs  and  squatted 
in  the  doorway,  to  watch  and  listen.  The  morning 
air  overcame  with  its  sweetness  the  natural  odor  of 
that  small  room,  and  a  bird  or  two  went  flirting 
past.  The  small  creature  came  back  with  the  bricks, 
wrapped  in  petticoats  of  her  own,  and,  placing  them 
against  the  soles  of  her  father's  feet,  she  stood  gaz- 
ing at  Tod,  for  all  the  world  like  a  little  mother 
dog  with  puppies. 

"You  can't  go  to  school  to-day,  Biddy." 

"Is  Susie  and  Billy  to  go?" 

"Yes;  there's  nothing  to  be  frightened  of  now. 
He'll  be  nearly  all  right  by  evening.  But  some  one 
shall  stay  with  you." 

At  this  moment  Tryst  lifted  his  hand,  and  the 
small  creature  went  and  stood  beside  him,  listening 
to  the  whispering  that  emerged  from  his  thick  lips. 

"Father  says  I'm  to  thank  you,  please." 

"Yes.     Have  you  had  your  breakfasts?" 

The  small  creature  and  her  smaller  brother  shook 
their  heads. 

"Go  down  and  get  them." 

Whispering  and  twisting  back,  they  went,  and 
by  the  side  of  the  bed  Tod  sat  down.  In  Tryst's 
eyes  was  that  same  look  of  dog-like  devotion  he 
had  bent  on  Derek  earlier  that  morning.  Tod  stared 
out  of  the  window  and  gave  the  man's  big  hand  a 


THE  FREELANDS  115 

squeeze.  Of  what  did  he  think,  watching  a  lime- 
tree  outside,  and  the  sunlight  through  its  foliage 
painting  bright  the  room's  newly  whitewashed  wall, 
already  gray-spotted  with  damp  again;  watching 
the  shadows  of  the  leaves  playing  in  that  sunlight? 
Almost  cruel,  that  lovely  shadow  game  of  outside 
life  so  full  and  joyful,  so  careless  of  man  and  suf- 
fering; too  gay  almost,  too  alive!  Of  what  did  he 
think,  watching  the  chase  and  dart  of  shadow  on 
shadow,  as  of  gray  butterflies  fluttering  swift  to  the 
sack  of  flowers,  while  beside  him  on  the  bed  the 
big  laborer  lay?  .  .  . 

When  Kirsteen  and  Sheila  came  to  relieve  him  of 
that  vigil  he  went  down-stairs.  There  in  the  kitchen 
Biddy  was  washing  up,  and  Susie  and  Billy  putting 
on  their  boots  for  school.  They  stopped  to  gaze  at 
Tod  feeling  in  his  pockets,  for  they  knew  that 
things  sometimes  happened  after  that.  To-day 
there  came  out  two  carrots,  some  lumps  of  sugar, 
some  cord,  a  bill,  a  pruning  knife,  a  bit  of  wax, 
a  bit  of  chalk,  three  flints,  a  pouch  of  tobacco,  two 
pipes,  a  match-box  with  a  single  match  in  it,  a  six- 
pence, a  necktie,  a  stick  of  chocolate,  a  tomato,  a 
handkerchief,  a  dead  bee,  an  old  razor,  a  bit  of 
gauze,  some  tow,  a  stick  of  caustic,  a  reel  of  cot- 
ton, a  needle,  no  thimble,  two  dock  leaves,  and  some 
sheets  of  yellowish  paper.  He  separated  from 
the  rest  the  sixpence,  the  dead  bee,  and  what  was 
edible.  And  in  delighted  silence  the  three  little 
Trysts  gazed,  till  Biddy  with  the  tip  of  one  wet 
linger  touched  the  bee. 


n6  THE  FREELANDS 

"Not  good  to  eat,  Biddy." 

At  those  words,  one  after  the  other,  cautiously, 
the  three  little  Trysts  smiled.  Finding  that  Tod 
smiled  too,  they  broadened,  and  Billy  burst  into 
chuckles.  Then,  clustering  in  the  doorway,  grasp- 
ing the  edibles  and  the  sixpence,  and  consulting 
with  each  other,  they  looked  long  after  his  big  figure 
passing  down  the  road. 


CHAPTER  XII 

STILL  later,  that  same  morning,  Derek  and  Sheila 
moved  slowly  up  the  Mallorings'  well-swept  drive. 
Their  lips  were  set,  as  though  they  had  spoken  the 
last  word  before  battle,  and  an  old  cock  pheasant, 
running  into  the  bushes  close  by,  rose  with  a  whir 
and  skimmed  out  toward  his  covert,  scared,  per- 
haps, by  something  uncompromising  in  the  foot- 
steps of  those  two. 

Only  when  actually  under  the  shelter  of  the  porch, 
which  some  folk  thought  enhanced  the  old  Greek- 
temple  effect  of  the  Mallorings'  house,  Derek  broke 
through  that  taciturnity: 

"What  if  they  won't?" 

"Wait  and  see;  and  don't  lose  your  head,  Derek." 

The  man  who  stood  there  when  the  door  opened 
was  tall,  grave,  wore  his  hair  in  powder,  and  waited 
without  speech. 

"Will  you  ask  Sir  Gerald  and  Lady  Malloring  if 
Miss  Freeland  and  Mr.  Derek  Freeland  could  see 
them,  please;  and  will  you  say  the  matter  is  urgent  ?  " 

The  man  bowed,  left  them,  and  soon  came  back. 

"My  lady  will  see  you,  miss;  Sir  Gerald  is  not  in. 
This  way." 

Past  the  statuary,  flowers,  and  antlers  of  the  hall, 
they  traversed  a  long,  cool  corridor,  and  through  a 

117 


n8  THE  FREELANDS 

white  door  entered  a  white  room,  not  very  large, 
and  very  pretty.  Two  children  got  up  as  they 
came  in  and  flapped  out  past  them  like  young  par- 
tridges, and  Lady  Malloring  rose  from  her  writing- 
table  and  came  forward,  holding  out  her  hand.  The 
two  young  Freelands  took  it  gravely.  For  all  their 
hostility  they  could  not  withstand  the  feeling  that 
she  would  think  them  terrible  young  prigs  if  they 
simply  bowed.  And  they  looked  steadily  at  one 
with  whom  they  had  never  before  been  at  quite 
such  close  quarters.  Lady  Malloring,  who  had  orig- 
inally been  the  Honorable  Mildred  Killory,  a  daugh- 
ter of  Viscount  Silport,  was  tall,  slender,  and  not 
very  striking,  with  very  fair  hair  going  rather  gray; 
her  expression  in  repose  was  pleasant,  a  little  anx- 
ious; only  by  her  eyes  was  the  suspicion  awakened 
that  she  was  a  woman  of  some  character.  They 
had  that  peculiar  look  of  belonging  to  two  worlds, 
so  often  to  be  met  with  in  English  eyes,  a  look  of 
self-denying  aspiration,  tinctured  with  the  sugges- 
tion that  denial  might  not  be  confined  to  self. 

In  a  quite  friendly  voice  she  said: 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you?"  And  while  she 
waited  for  an  answer  her  glance  travelled  from  face 
to  face  of  the  two  young  people,  with  a  certain 
curiosity.  After  a  silence  of  several  seconds,  Sheila 
answered: 

"Not  for  us,  thank  you;  for  others,  you  can." 

Lady  Malloring's  eyebrows  rose  a  little,  as  if 
there  seemed  to  her  something  rather  unjust  in 
those  words — 'for  others.' 


THE  FREELANDS  119 

"Yes?"  she  said. 

Sheila,  whose  hands  were  clenched,  and  whose 
face  had  been  fiery  red,  grew  suddenly  almost 
white. 

"Lady  Malloring,  will  you  please  let  the  Gaunts 
stay  in  their  cottage  and  Tryst's  wife's  sister  come 
to  live  with  the  children  and  him?" 

Lady  Malloring  raised  one  hand;  the  motion, 
quite  involuntary,  ended  at  the  tiny  cross  on  her 
breast.  She  said  quietly: 

"I'm  afraid  you  don't  understand." 

"Yes,"  said  Sheila,  still  very  pale,  "we  under- 
stand quite  well.  We  understand  that  you  are 
acting  in  what  you  believe  to  be  the  interests  of 
morality.  All  the  same,  won't  you?  Do!" 

"I'm  very  sorry,  but  I  can't." 

"May  we  ask  why?" 

Lady  Malloring  started,  and  transferred  her  glance 
to  Derek. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said  with  a  smile,  "that  I 
am  obliged  to  account  for  my  actions  to  you  two 
young  people.  Besides,  you  must  know  why,  quite 
well." 

Sheila  put  out  her  hand. 

"Wilmet  Gaunt  will  go  to  the  bad  if  you  turn 
them  out." 

"I  am  afraid  I  think  she  has  gone  to  the  bad 
already,  and  I  do  not  mean  her  to  take  others 
there  with  her.  I  am  sorry  for  poor  Tryst,  and 
I  wish  he  could  find  some  nice  woman  to  marry; 
but  what  he  proposes  is  impossible." 


120  THE  FREELANDS 

The  blood  had  flared  up  again  in  Sheila's  cheeks; 
she  was  as  red  as  the  comb  of  a  turkey-cock. 

"Why  shouldn't  he  marry  his  wife's  sister?  It's 
legal,  now,  and  you've  no  right  to  stop  it." 

Lady  Malloring  bit  her  lips;  she  looked  straight 
and  hard  at  Sheila. 

"I  do  not  stop  it;  I  have  no  means  of  stopping  it. 
Only,  he  cannot  do  it  and  live  in  one  of  our  cottages. 
I  don't  think  we  need  discuss  this  further." 

"I  beg  your  pardon— 

The  words  had  come  from  Derek.  Lady  Mal- 
loring paused  in  her  walk  toward  the  bell.  With 
his  peculiar  thin-lipped  smile  the  boy  went  on: 

"We  imagined  you  would  say  no;  we  really  came 
because  we  thought  it  fair  to  warn  you  that  there 
may  be  trouble." 

Lady  Malloring  smiled. 

"This  is  a  private  matter  between  us  and  our 
tenants,  and  we  should  be  so  glad  if  you  could 
manage  not  to  interfere." 

Derek  bowed,  and  put  his  hand  within  his  sis- 
ter's arm.  But  Sheila  did  not  move;  she  was 
trembling  with  anger. 

"Who  are  you,"  she  suddenly  burst  out,  "to  dis- 
pose of  the  poor,  body  and  soul?  Who  are  you, 
to  dictate  their  private  lives?  If  they  pay  their 
rent,  that  should  be  enough  for  you." 

Lady  Malloring  moved  swiftly  again  toward  the 
bell.  She  paused  with  her  hand  on  it,  and  said: 

"I  am  sorry  for  you  two;  you  have  been  mis- 
erably brought  up !" 


THE  FREELANDS  121 

There  was  a  silence;   then  Derek  said  quietly: 

"Thank  you;  we  shall  remember  that  insult  to 
our  people.  Don't  ring,  please;  we're  going." 

In  a  silence  if  anything  more  profound  than  that 
of  their  approach,  the  two  young  people  retired 
down  the  drive.  They  had  not  yet  learned — most 
difficult  of  lessons — how  to  believe  that  people  could 
in  their  bones  differ  from  them.  It  had  always 
seemed  to  them  that  if  only  they  had  a  chance  of 
putting  directly  what  they  thought,  the  other  side 
must  at  heart  agree,  and  only  go  on  saying  they 
didn't  out  of  mere  self-interest.  They  came  away, 
therefore,  from  this  encounter  with  the  enemy  a 
little  dazed  by  the  discovery  that  Lady  Mallor- 
ing  in  her  bones  believed  that  she  was  right.  It 
confused  them,  and  heated  the  fires  of  their 
anger. 

They  had  shaken  off  all  private  dust  before  Sheila 
spoke. 

"They're  all  like  that — can't  see  or  feel — simply 
certain  they're  superior!  It  makes — it  makes  me 
hate  them !  It's  terrible,  ghastly."  And  while  she 
stammered  out  those  little  stabs  of  speech,  tears 
of  rage  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 

Derek  put  his  arm  round  her  waist. 

"All  right!  No  good  groaning;  let's  think  seri- 
ously what  to  do." 

There  was  comfort  to  the  girl  in  that  curiously 
sudden  reversal  of  their  usual  attitudes. 

"Whatever's  done,"  he  went  on,  "has  got  to  be 
startling.  It's  no  good  pottering  and  protesting, 


122  THE  FREELANDS 

any  more."     And  between  his  teeth  he  muttered: 
"'Men  of  England,  wherefore  plough?7  .  .  ." 

In  the  room  where  the  encounter  had  taken  place 
Mildred  Malloring  was  taking  her  time  to  recover. 
From  very  childhood  she  had  felt  that  the  essence  of 
her  own  goodness,  the  essence  of  her  duty  in  life,  was 
the  doing  of  'good'  to  others;  from  very  childhood 
she  had  never  doubted  that  she  was  in  a  position  to 
do  this,  and  that  those  to  whom  she  did  good,  al- 
though they  might  kick  against  it  as  inconvenient, 
must  admit  that  it  was  their  'good.'  The  thought: 
'They  don't  admit  that  I  am  superior!'  had  never 
even  occurred  to  her,  so  completely  was  she  unself- 
conscious,  in  her  convinced  superiority.  It  was 
hard,  indeed,  to  be  flung  against  such  outspoken 
rudeness.  It  shook  her  more  than  she  gave  sign  of, 
for  she  was  not  by  any  means  an  insensitive  woman — 
shook  her  almost  to  the  point  of  feeling  that  there 
was  something  in  the  remonstrance  of  those  dreadful 
young  people.  Yet,  how  could  there  be,  when  no  one 
knew  better  than  she  that  the  laborers  on  the  Mallor- 
ing estate  were  better  off  than  those  on  nine  out  of 
ten  estates;  better  paid  and  better  housed,  and — 
better  looked  after  in  their  morals.  Was  she  to  give 
up  that  ? — when  she  knew  that  she  was  better  able  to 
tell  what  was  good  for  them  than  they  were  them- 
selves. After  all,  without  stripping  herself  naked  of 
every  thought,  experience,  and  action  since  her  tirth, 
how  could  she  admit  that  she  was  not  better  able? 
And  slowly,  in  the  white  room  with  the  moss-green 


THE  FREELANDS  123 

carpet,  she  recovered,  till  there  was  only  just  a  touch 
of  soreness  left,  at  the  injustice  implicit  in  their 
words.  Those  two  had  been  'miserably  brought  up/ 
had  never  had  a  chance  of  finding  their  proper  place, 
of  understanding  that  they  were  just  two  callow 
young  things,  for  whom  Life  had  some  fearful  knocks 
in  store.  She  could  even  feel  now  that  she  had  meant 
that  saying : '  I  am  sorry  for  you  two  ! '  She  was  sorry 
for  them,  sorry  for  their  want  of  manners  and  their 
point  of  view,  neither  of  which  they  could  help,  of 
course,  with  a  mother  like  that.  For  all  her  gentle^ 
ness  and  sensibility,  there  was  much  practical  di- 
rectness about  Mildred  Malloring;  for  her,  a  page 
turned  was  a  page  turned,  an  idea  absorbed  was 
never  disgorged;  she  was  of  religious  temperament, 
ever  trimming  her  course  down  the  exact  channel 
marked  out  with  buoys  by  the  Port  Authorities,  and 
really  incapable  of  imagining  spiritual  wants  in  others 
that  could  not  be  satisfied  by  what  satisfied  herself. 
And  this  pathetic  strength  she  had  in  common  with 
many  of  her  fellow  creatures  in  every  class.  Sitting 
down  at  the  writing-table  from  which  she  had  been 
disturbed,  she  leaned  her  thin,  rather  long,  gentle, 
but  stubborn  face  on  her  hand,  thinking.  These 
Gaunts  were  a  source  of  irritation  in  the  parish,  a 
kind  of  open  sore.  It  would  be  better  if  they  could 
be  got  rid  of  before  quarter  day,  up  to  which  she  had 
weakly  said  they  might  remain.  Far  better  for  them 
to  go  at  once,  if  it  could  be  arranged.  As  for  the  poor 
fellow  Tryst,  thinking  that  by  plunging  into  sin  he 
could  improve  his  lot  and  his  poor  children's,  it  was 


124  THE  FREELANDS 

really  criminal  of  those  Freelands  to  encourage  him. 
She  had  refrained  hitherto  from  seriously  worrying 
Gerald  on  such  points  of  village  policy — his  hands 
were  so  full;  but  he  must  now  take  his  part.  And  she 
rang  the  bell. 

"Tell  Sir  Gerald  I'd  like  to  see  him,  please,  as  soon 
as  he  gets  back." 

"Sir  Gerald  has  just  come  in,  my  lady." 

"Now,  then!" 

Gerald  Malloring — an  excellent  fellow,  as  could  be 
seen  from  his  face  of  strictly  Norman  architecture, 
with  blue  stained-glass  windows  rather  deep  set  in- 
had  only  one  defect :  he  was  not  a  poet.  Not  that  this 
would  have  seemed  to  him  anything  but  an  advan- 
tage, had  he  been  aware  of  it.  His  was  one  of  those 
high-principled  natures  who  hold  that  breadth  is 
synonymous  with  weakness.  It  may  be  said  without 
exaggeration  that  the  few  meetings  of  his  life  with 
those  who  had  a  touch  of  the  poet  in  them  had  been 
exquisitely  uncomfortable.  Silent,  almost  taciturn 
by  nature,  he  was  a  great  reader  of  poetry,  and  seldom 
went  to  sleep  without  having  digested  a  page  or  two 
of  Wordsworth,  Milton,  Tennyson,  or  Scott.  Byron, 
save  such  poems  as  'Don  Juan'  or  ' The  Waltz/  he 
could  but  did  not  read,  for  fear  of  setting  a  bad  ex- 
ample. Burns,  Shelley,  £nd  Keats  he  did  not  care 
for!  Browning  pained  him,  except  by  such  things 
as:  'How  They  Brought  the  Good  News  from  Ghent 
to  Aix'  and  the  'Cavalier  Tunes';  while  of  'Omar 
Khayyam'  and  'The  Hound  of  Heaven'  he  definitely 
disapproved.  For  Shakespeare  he  had  no  real  liking, 
though  he  concealed  this,  from  humility  in  the  face  of 


THE  FREELANDS  125 

accepted  opinion.  His  was  a  firm  mind,  sure  of  itself, 
but  not  self-assertive.  His  points  were  so  good,  and 
he  had  so  many  of  them,  that  it  was  only  when  he  met 
any  one  touched  with  poetry  that  his  limitations  be- 
came apparent;  it  was  rare,  however,  and  getting 
more  so  every  year,  for  him  to  have  this  unpleasant 
experience. 

When  summoned  by  his  wife,  he  came  in  with  a 
wrinkle  between  his  straight  brows;  he  had  just  fin- 
ished a  morning's  work  on  a  drainage  scheme,  like 
the  really  good  fellow  that  he  was.  She  greeted  him 
with  a  little  special  smile.  Nothing  could  be  friend- 
lier than  the  relations  between  these  two.  Affection 
and  trust,  undeviating  undemonstrativeness,  iden- 
tity of  feeling  as  to  religion,  children,  property;  and, 
in  regard  to  views  on  the  question  of  sex,  a  really 
strange  unanimity,  considering  that  they  were  man 
and  woman. 

"It's  about  these  Gaunts,  Gerald.  I  feel  they 
must  go  at  once.  They're  only  creating  bad  feeling 
by  staying  till  quarter  day.  I  have  had  the  young 
Freelands  here." 

"Those  young  pups!" 

"Can't  it  be  managed?" 

Malloring  did  not  answer  hastily.  He  had  that 
best  point  of  the  good  Englishman,  a  dislike  to  being 
moved  out  of  a  course  of  conduct  by  anything  save 
the  appeal  of  his  own  conscience. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said,  "why  we  should  alter 
what  we  thought  was  just.  Must  give  him  time  to 
look  round  and  get  a  job  elsewhere. " 

"I  think  the  general  state  of  feeling  demands  it. 


126  THE  FREELANDS 

It's  not  fair  to  the  villagers  to  let  the  Freelands  have 
such  a  handle  for  agitating.  Labor's  badly  wanted 
everywhere;  he  can't  have  any  difficulty  in  getting  a 
place,  if  he  likes. " 

"  No.  Only,  I  rather  admire  the  fellow  for  sticking 
by  his  girl,  though  he  is  such  a  'land-lawyer.'  I 
think  it's  a  bit  harsh  to  move  him  suddenly. " 

"So  did  I,  till  I  saw  from  those  young  furies  what 
harm  it's  doing.  They  really  do  infect  the  cottagers. 
You  know  how  discontent  spreads.  And  Tryst— 
they're  egging  him  on,  too." 

Malloring  very  thoughtfully  filled  a  pipe.  He  was 
not  an  alarmist;  if  anything,  he  erred  on  the  side  of 
not  being  alarmed  until  it  was  all  over  and  there  was 
no  longer  anything  to  be  alarmed  at !  His  imagina- 
tion would  then  sometimes  take  fire,  and  he  would 
say  that  such  and  such,  or  so  and  so,  was  dangerous. 

"I'd  rather  go  and  have  a  talk  with  Freeland, "  he 
said.  "He's  queer,  but  he's  not  at  all  a  bad  chap. " 

Lady  Malloring  rose,  and  took  one  of  his  real- 
leather  buttons  in  her  hand. 

"My  dear  Gerald,  Mr.  Freeland  doesn't  exist." 

"Don't  know  about  that;  a  man  can  always  come 
to  life,  if  he  likes,  in  his  own  family. " 

Lady  Malloring  was  silent.  It  was  true.  For  all 
their  unanimity  of  thought  and  feeling,  for  all  the 
latitude  she  had  in  domestic  and  village  affairs,  Ger- 
ald had  a  habit  of  filling  his  pipe  with  her  decisions. 
Quite  honestly,  she  had  no  objection  to  their  becom- 
ing smoke  through  his  lips,  though  she  might  wriggle 
just  a  little.  To  her  credit,  she  did  entirely  carry  out 


THE  FREELANDS  127 

in  her  life  her  professed  belief  that  husbands  should 
be  the  forefronts  of  their  wives.  For  all  that,  there 
burst  from  her  lips  the  words : 

"That  Freeland  woman!  When  I  think  of  the 
mischief  she's  always  done  here,  by  her  example  and 
her  irreligion — I  can't  forgive  her.  I  don't  believe 
you'll  make  any  impression  on  Mr.  Freeland;  he's 
entirely  under  her  thumb. " 

Smoking  slowly,  and  looking  just  over  the  top  of  his 
wife's  head,  Malloring  answered: 

"  I'll  have  a  try;  and  don't  you  worry ! " 

Lady  Malloring  turned  away.  Her  soreness  still 
wanted  salve. 

"Those  two  young  people,"  she  murmured,  "said 
some  very  unpleasant  things  to  me.  The  boy,  I  be- 
lieve, might  have  some  good  in  him,  but  the  girl  is 
simply  terrible. " 

"H'm !    I  think  just  the  reverse,  you  know. " 

"They'll  come  to  awful  grief  if  they're  not  brought 
up  sharp.  They  ought  to  be  sent  to  the  colonies  to 
learn  reality. " 

Malloring  nodded. 

"Come  out,  Mildred,  and  see  how  they're  getting 
on  with  the  new  vinery."  And  they  went  out  to- 
gether through  the  French  window. 

The  vinery  was  of  their  own  designing,  and  of  ex- 
traordinary interest.  In  contemplation  of  its  lofty 
glass  and  aluminium-cased  pipes  the  feeling  of  sore- 
ness left  her.  It  was  very  pleasant,  standing  with 
Gerald,  looking  at  what  they  had  planned  together; 
there  was  a  s  nothing  sense  of  reality  about  that  visit, 


128  THE  FREELANDS 

after  the  morning's  happening,  with  its  disappoint- 
ment, its  reminder  of  immorality  and  discontent,  and 
of  folk  ungrateful  for  what  was  done  for  their  good. 
And,  squeezing  her  husband's  arm,  she  murmured: 
"It's  really  exactly  what  we  thought  it  would  be, 
Gerald!" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ABOUT  five  o'clock  of  that  same  afternoon,  Gerald 
Malloring  went  to  see  Tod.  An  open-air  man  him- 
self, who  often  deplored  the  long  hours  he  was  com- 
pelled to  spend  in  the  special  atmosphere  of  the  House 
of  Commons,  he  rather  envied  Tod  his  existence  in 
this  cottage,  crazed  from  age,  and  clothed  with 
wistaria,  rambler  roses,  sweetbrier,  honeysuckle,  and 
Virginia  creeper.  Freeland  had,  in  his  opinion, 
quite  a  jolly  life  of  it — the  poor  fellow  not  being  able, 
of  course,  to  help  having  a  cranky  wife  and  children 
like  that.  He  pondered,  as  he  went  along,  over  a  talk 
at  Becket,  when  Stanley,  still  under  the  influence  of 
Felix's  outburst,  had  uttered  some  rather  queer  say- 
ings. For  instance,  he  had  supposed  that  they  (mean- 
ing, apparently,  himself  and  Malloring)  were  rather 
unable  to  put  themselves  in  the  position  of  these 
Trysts  and  Gaunts.  He  seemed  to  speak  of  them  as 
one  might  speak  generically  of  Hodge,  which  had 
struck  Malloring  as  singular,  it  not  being  his  habit 
to  see  anything  in  common  between  an  individual 
case,  especially  on  his  own  estate,  and  the  ethics  of 
a  general  proposition.  The  place  for  general  prop- 
ositions was  undoubtedly  the  House  of  Commons, 
where  they  could  be  supported  one  way  or  the 
other,  out  of  blue  books.  He  had  little  use  for 

129 


130  THE  FREELANDS 

them  in  private  life,  where  innumerable  things  such 
as  human  nature  and  all  that  came  into  play.  He 
had  stared  rather  hard  at  his  host  when  Stanley 
had  followed  up  that  first  remark  with:  "I'm 
bound  vto  say,  7  shouldn't  care  to  have  to  get 
up  at  half  past  five,  and  go  out  without  a  bath!" 
What  that  had  to  do  with  the  land  problem  or  the 
regulation  of  village  morality  Malloring  had  been 
unable  to  perceive.  It  all  depended  on  what  one  was 
accustomed  to;  and  in  any  case  threw  no  light  on  the 
question,  as  to  whether  or  not  he  was  to  tolerate  on 
his  estate  conduct  of  which  his  wife  and  himself  dis- 
tinctly disapproved.  At  the  back  of  national  life 
there  was  always  this  problem  of  individual  conduct, 
especially  sexual  conduct — without  regularity  in 
which,  the  family,  as  the  unit  of  national  life,  was 
gravely  threatened,  to  put  it  on  the  lowest  ground. 
And  he  did  not  see  how  to  bring  it  home  to  the  villag- 
ers that  they  had  got  to  be  regular,  without  making 
examples  now  and  then. 

He  had  hoped  very  much  to  get  through  his  call 
without  coming  across  Freeland's  wife  and  children, 
and  was  greatly  relieved  to  find  Tod,  seated  on  a 
window-sill  in  front  of  his  cottage,  smoking,  and 
gazing  apparently  at  nothing.  In  taking  the  other 
corner  of  the  window-sill,  the  thought  passed  through 
his  mind  that  Freeland  was  really  a  very  fine-looking 
fellow.  Tod  was,  indeed,  about  Malloring's  own 
height  of  six  feet  one,  with  the  same  fairness  and 
straight  build  of  figure  and  feature.  But  Tod's  head 
was  round  and  massive,  his  hair  crisp  and  uncut; 


THE  FREELANDS  131 

Malloring's  head  long  and  narrow,  his  hair  smooth 
and  close-cropped.  Tod's  eyes,  blue  and  deep-set, 
seemed  fixed  on  the  horizon,  Malloring's,  blue  and 
deep-set,  on  the  nearest  thing  they  could  light  on. 
Tod  smiled,  as  it  were,  without  knowing;  Malloring 
seemed  to  know  what  he  was  smiling  at  almost  too 
well.  It  was  comforting,  however,  that  Freeland 
was  as  shy  and  silent  as  himself,  for  this  produced  a 
feeling  that  there  could  not  be  any  real  difference  be- 
tween their  points  of  view.  Perceiving  at  last  that  if 
he  did  not  speak  they  would  continue  sitting  there 
dumb  till  it  was  time  for  him  to  go,  Malloring  said: 

"Look  here,  Freeland;  about  my  wife  and  yours 
and  Tryst  and  the  Gaunts,  and  all  the  rest  of  it !  It's 
a  pity,  isn't  it?  This  is  a  small  place,  you  know. 
What's  your  own  feeling?" 

Tod  answered: 

"A  man  has  only  one  life. " 

Malloring  was  a  little  puzzled. 

"  In  this  world.     I  don't  follow. " 

"Live  and  let  live." 

A  part  of  Malloring  undoubtedly  responded  to  that 
curt  saying,  a  part  of  him  as  strongly  rebelled  against 
it;  and  which  impulse  he  was  going  to  follow  was  not 
at  first  patent. 

"  You  see,  you  keep  apart, "  he  said  at  last.  "  You 
couldn't  say  that  so  easily  if  you  had,  like  us,  to  take 
up  the  position  in  which  we  find  ourselves. " 

"Why  take  it  up?" 

Malloring  frowned.     "How  would  things  go  on?" 

"All  right,"  said  Ted. 


132  THE  FREELANDS 

Malloring  got  up  from  the  sill.  This  was  'laisser- 
faire'  with  a  vengeance!  Such  philosophy  had  al- 
ways seemed  to  him  to  savor  dangerously  of  anarch- 
ism. And  yet  twenty  years'  experience  as  a  neighbor 
had  shown  him  that  Tod  was  in  himself  perhaps  the 
most  harmless  person  in  Worcestershire,  and  held  in  a 
curious  esteem  by  most  of  the  people  about.  He  was 
puzzled,  and  sat  down  again. 

"I've  never  had  a  chance  to  talk  things  over  with 
you,"  he  said.  "There  are  a  good  few  people,  Free- 
land,  who  can't  behave  themselves;  we're  not  bees, 
you  know!" 

He  stopped,  having  an  uncomfortable  suspicion 
that  his  hearer  was  not  listening. 

"First  I've  heard  this  year,"  said  Tod. 

For  all  the  rudeness  of  that  interruption,  Malloring 
felt  a  stir  of  interest.  He  himself  liked  birds.  Un- 
fortunately, he  could  hear  nothing  but  the  general 
chorus  of  their  songs. 

"Thought  they'd  gone,"  murmured  Tod. 

Malloring  again  got  up.  "Look  here,  Freeland," 
he  said,  "I  wish  you'd  give  your  mind  to  this.  You 
really  ought  not  to  let  your  wife  and  children  make 
trouble  in  the  village. " 

Confound  the  fellow  !  He  was  smiling ;  there  was  a 
sort  of  twinkle  in  his  smile,  too,  that  Malloring  found 
infectious ! 

"No,  seriously,"  he  said,  "you  don't  know  what 
harm  you  mayn't  do. " 

"Have  you  ever  watched  a  dog  looking  at  a  fire?" 
asked  Tod. 


THE  FREELANDS  133 

"Yes,  often;  why?" 

"He  knows  better  than  to  touch  it." 

"You  mean  you're  helpless?  But  you  oughtn't 
to  be." 

The  fellow  was  smiling  again ! 

"Then  you  don't  mean  to  do  anything?" 

Tod  shook  his  head. 

Malloring  flushed.  "Now,  look  here,  Freeland," 
he  said,  "forgive  my  saying  so,  but  this  strikes  me  as 
a  bit  cynical.  D'you  think  I  enjoy  trying  to  keep 
things  straight?" 

Tod  looked  up. 

"Birds,"  he  said,  "animals,  insects,  vegetable  life 
— they  all  eat  each  other  more  or  less,  but  they  don't 
fuss  about  it. " 

Malloring  turned  abruptly  and  went  down  the 
path.  Fuss !  He  never  fussed.  Fuss !  The  word 
was  an  insult,  addressed  to  him !  If  there  was  one 
tiling  he  detested  more  than  another,  whether  in  pub- 
lic or  private  life,  it  was  l fussing.'  Did  he  not  belong 
to  the  League  for  Suppression  of  Interference  with  the 
Liberty  of  the  Subject  ?  Was  he  not  a  member  of  the 
party  notoriously  opposed  to  fussy  legislation  ?  Had 
any  one  ever  used  the  word  in  connection  with  con- 
duct of  his,  before?  If  so,  he  had  never  heard  them. 
Was  it  fussy  to  try  and  help  the  Church  to  improve 
the  standard  of  morals  in  the  village?  Was  it  fussy 
to  make  a  simple  decision  and  stick  to  it  ?  The  in- 
justice of  the  word  really  hurt  him.  And  the  more 
it  hurt  him,  the  slower  and  more  dignified  and  up- 
right became  his  march  toward  his  drive  gate. 


134  THE  FREELANDS 

'Wild  geese '  in  the  morning  sky  had  been  fore- 
runners; very  heavy  clouds  were  sweeping  up  from 
the  west,  and  rain  beginning  to  fall.  He  passed  an 
old  man  leaning  on  the  gate  of  a  cottage  garden  and 
said:  "  Good  evening ! " 

The  old  man  touched  his  hat  but  did  not  speak. 

"How's  your  leg,  Gaunt?" 

""Us  much  the  same,  Sir  Gerald. " 

"Rain  coming  makes  it  shoot,  I  expect." 

"It  do." 

Malloring  stood  still.  The  impulse  was  on  him  to 
see  if,  after  all,  the  Gaunts'  affair  could  not  be  dis- 
posed of  without  turning  the  old  fellow  and  his  son 
out. 

"Look  here!"  he  said;  "about  this  unfortunate 
business.  Why  don't  you  and  your  son  make  up 
your  faiinds  without  more  ado  to  let  your  grand- 
daughter go  out  to  service?  You've  been  here  all 
your  lives;  I  don't  want  to  see  you  go. " 

The  least  touch  of  color  invaded  the  old  man's 
carved  and  grayish  face. 

"Askin'  your  pardon,"  he  said,  "my  son  sticks  by 
his  girl,  and  I  sticks  by  my  son !" 

"Oh!  very  well;  you  know  your  own  business, 
Gaunt.  I  spoke  for  your  good. " 

A  faint  smile  curled  the  corners  of  old  Gaunt's 
mouth  downward  beneath  his  gray  moustaches. 

"Thank  you  kindly, "  he  said. 

Malloring  raised  a  finger  to  his  cap  and  passed  on. 
Though  he  felt  a  longing  to  stride  his  feelings  off,  he 
did  not  increase  his  pace,  knowing  that  the  old  man's 


THE  FREELANDS  135 

eyes  were  following  him.  But  how  pig-headed  they 
were,  seeing  nothing  but  their  own  point  of  view! 
Well,  he  could  not  alter  his  decision.  They  would  go 
at  the  June  quarter — not  a  day  before,  nor  after. 

Passing  Tryst's  cottage,  he  noticed  a  'fly'  drawn 
up  outside,  and  its  driver  talking  to  a  woman  in  hat 
and  coat  at  the  cottage  doorway.  She  avoided  his 
eye. 

'The  wife's  sister  again!'  he  thought.  cSo  that 
fellow's  going  to  be  an  ass,  too  ?  Hopeless,  stubborn 
lot!'  And  his  mind  passed  on  to  his  scheme  for 
draining  the  bottom  fields  at  Cantley  Bromage. 
This  village  trouble  was  too  small  to  occupy  for  long 
the  mind  of  one  who  had  so  many  duties.  .  .  . 

Old  Gaunt  remained  at  the  gate  watching  till  the 
tall  figure  passed  out  of  sight,  then  limped  slowly 
down  the  path  and  entered  his  son's  cottage.  Tom 
Gaunt,  not  long  in  from  work,  was  sitting  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves, reading  the  paper — a  short,  thick-set  man 
with  small  eyes,  round,  ruddy  cheeks,  and  humorous 
lips  indifferently  concealed  by  a  ragged  moustache. 
Even  in  repose  there  was  about  him  something  talka- 
tive and  disputatious.  He  was  clearly  the  kind  of 
man  whose  eyes  and  wit  would  sparkle  above  a  pewter 
pot.  A  good  workman,  he  averaged  out  an  income 
of  perhaps  eighteen  shillings  a  week,  counting  the  two 
shillings'  worth  of  vegetables  that  he  grew.  His 
erring  daughter  washed  for  two  old  ladies  in  a  bunga- 
low, so  that  with  old  Gaunt's  five  shillings  from  the 
parish,  the  total  resources  of  this  family  of  five,  in- 
cluding two  small  boys  at  school,  was  seven  and 


136  THE  FREELANDS 

twenty  shillings  a  week.  Quite  a  sum !  His  com- 
parative wealth  no  doubt  contributed  to  the  reputa- 
tion of  Tom  Gaunt,  well  known  as  local  wag  and  dis- 
turber of  political  meetings.  His  method  with  these 
gatherings,  whether  Liberal  or  Tory,  had  a  certain 
masterly  simplicity.  By  interjecting  questions  that 
could  not  be  understood,  and  commenting  on  the 
answers  received,  he  insured  perpetual  laughter,  with 
the  most  salutary  effects  on  the  over-consideration  of 
any  political  question,  together  with  a  tendency  to 
make  his  neighbors  say:  "Ah!  Tom  Gaunt,  he's  a 
proper  caution,  he  is!"  An  encomium  dear  to  his 
ears.  What  he  seriously  thought  about  anything  in 
this  world,  no  one  knew;  but  some  suspected  him  of 
voting  Liberal,  because  he  disturbed  their  meetings 
most.  His  loyalty  to  his  daughter  was  not  credited 
to  affection.  It  was  like  Tom  Gaunt  to  stick  his  toes 
in  and  kick — the  Quality,  for  choice.  To  look  at  him 
and  old  Gaunt,  one  would  not  have  thought  they 
could  be  son  and  father,  a  relationship  indeed  ever 
dubious.  As  for  his  wife,  she  had  been  dead  twelve 
years.  Some  said  he  had  joked  her  out  of  life,  others 
that  she  had  gone  into  consumption.  He  was  a 
reader — perhaps  the  only  one  in  all  the  village,  and 
could  whistle  like  a  blackbird.  To  work  hard,  but 
without  too  great  method,  to  drink  hard,  but  with 
perfect  method,  and  to  talk  nineteen  to  the  dozen 
anywhere  except  at  home — was  his  mode  of  life.  In 
a  word,  he  was  a '  character.' 

Old  Gaunt  sat  down  in  a  wooden  rocking-chair, 
and  spoke. 


THE  FREELANDS  137 

"  Sir  Gerald  'e've  a-just  passed. " 

"Sir  Gerald  'e  can  goo  to  hell.  They'll  know  un 
there,  by  'is  little  ears." 

"  'EVe  a-spoke  about  us  stopping  so  as  Mettie  goes 
out  to  sarvice. " 

"'EVe  a-spoke  about  what  'e  don't  know  'bout, 
then.  Let  un  do  what  they  like,  they  can't  put  Tom 
Gaunt  about;  he  can  get  work  anywhere — Tom 
Gaunt  can,  an'  don't  you  forget  that,  old  man. " 

The  old  man,  placing  his  thin  brown  hands  on  his 
knees,  was  silent.  And  thoughts  passed  through 
and  through  him.  'If  so  be  as  Tom  goes,  there'll  be 
no  one  as '11  take  me  in  for  less  than  three  bob  a  week. 
Two  bob  a  week,  that's  what  I'll  'ave  to  feed  me— 
Two  bob  a  week — two  bob  a  week !  But  if  so  be's  I 
go  with  Tom,  I'll  'ave  to  reg'lar  sit  down  under  he  for 
me  bread  and  butter.'  And  he  contemplated  his  son. 

"Where  are  you  goin',  then?"  he  said. 

Tom  Gaunt  rustled  the  greenish  paper  he  was  read- 
ing, and  his  little,  hard  gray  eyes  fixed  his  father. 

"  Who  said  I  was  going  ?  " 

Old  Gaunt,  smoothing  and  smoothing  the  lined, 
thin  cheeks  of  the  parchmenty,  thin-nosed  face  that 
Frances  Freeland  had  thought  to  be  almost  like  a 
gentleman's,  answered:  "I  thart  you  said  you  was 
goin'." 

"You  think  too  much,  then — that's  what  'tis. 
You  think  too  much,  old  man. " 

With  a  slight  deepening  of  the  sardonic  patience  in 
his  face,  old  Gaunt  rose,  took  a  bowl  and  spoon  down 
from  a  shelf,  and  very  slowly  proceeded  to  make  him- 


138  THE  FREELANDS 

self  his  evening  meal.  It  consisted  of  crusts  of  bread 
soaked  in  hot  water  and  tempered  with  salt,  pepper, 
onion,  and  a  touch  of  butter.  And  while  he  waited, 
crouched  over  the  kettle,  his  son  smoked  his  grayish 
clay  and  read  his  greenish  journal;  an  old  clock  ticked 
and  a  little  cat  purred  without  provocation  on  the 
ledge  of  the  tight-closed  window.  Then  the  door 
opened  and  the  rogue-girl  appeared.  She  shook  her 
shoulders  as  though  to  dismiss  the  wetting  she  had 
got,  took  Off  her  turn-down,  speckly,  straw  hat,  put 
on  an  apron,  and  rolled  up  her  sleeves.  Her  arms  were 
full  and  firm  and  red;  the  whole  of  her  was  full  and 
firm.  From  her  rosy  cheeks  to  her  stout  ankles  she 
was  superabundant  with  vitality,  the  strangest  con- 
trast to  her  shadowy,  thin  old  grandfather.  About 
the  preparation  of  her  father's  tea  she  moved  with  a 
sort  of  brooding  stolidity,  out  of  which  would  sud- 
denly gleam  a  twinkle  of  rogue-sweetness,  as  when 
she  stopped  to  stroke  the  little  cat  or  to  tickle  the 
back  of  her  grandfather's  lean  neck  in  passing.  Hav- 
ing set  the  tea,  she  stood  by  the  table  and  said 
slowly : "  Tea's  ready,  father.  I'm  goin'  to  London. " 

Tom  Gaunt  put  down  his  pipe  and  journal,  took 
his  seat  at  the  table,  filled  his  mouth  with  sausage, 
and  said:  "You're  goin'  where  I  tell  you. " 

"I'm  goin'  to  London." 

Tom  Gaunt  stayed  the  morsel  in  one  cheek  and 
fixed  her  with  his  little,  wild  boar's  eye. 

"Ye're  goin'  to  catch  the  stick,"  he  said.  "Look 
here,  my  girl,  Tom  Gaunt's  been  put  about  enough 
along  of  you  already.  Don't  you  make  no  mistake. " 


THE  FREELANDS  139 

"I'm  goin'  to  London,"  repeated  the  rogue-girl 
stolidly.  "You  can  get  Alice  to  come  over." 

"Oh!  Can  I?  Ye're  not  goin'  till  I  tell  you. 
Don't  you  think  it!" 

"I'm  goin'.  I  saw  Mr.  Derek  this  mornm'. 
They'll  get  me  a  place  there. " 

Tom  Gaunt  remained  with  his  fork  as  it  were  trans- 
fixed. The  effort  of  devising  contradiction  to  the 
chief  supporters  of  his  own  rebellion  was  for  the  mo- 
ment too  much  for  him.  He  resumed  mastication. 

"You'll  go  where  I  want  you  to  go;  and  don't  you 
think  you  can  tell  me  where  that  is. " 

In  the  silence  that  ensued  the  only  sound  was*  that 
of  old  Gaunt  supping  at  his  crusty-broth.  Then  the 
rogue-girl  went  to  the  window  and,  taking  the  little 
cat  on  her  breast,  sat  looking  out  into  the  rain.  Hav- 
ing finished  his  broth,  old  Gaunt  got  up,  and,  behind 
his  son's  back,  he  looked  at  his  granddaughter  and 
thought: 

'  Goin'  to  London !  '  Twud  be  best  for  us  all.  We 
shudn'  need  to  be  movin',  then.  Goin'  to  London !' 
But  he  felt  desolate. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WHEN  Spring  and  first  love  meet  in  a  girl's  heart, 
then  the  birds  sing. 

The  songs  that  blackbirds  and  dusty-coated 
thrushes  flung  through  Nedda's  window  when  she 
awoke  in  Hampstead  those  May  mornings  seemed  to 
have  been  sung  by  herself  all  night.  Whether  the 
sun  were  flashing  on  the  leaves,  or  rain-drops  sieving 
through  on  a  sou'west  wind,  the  same  warmth  glowed 
up  in  her  the  moment  her  eyes  opened.  Whether 
the  lawn  below  were  a  field  of  bright  dew,  or  dry  and 
darkish  in  a  shiver  of  east  wind,  her  eyes  never  grew 
dim  all  day;  and  her  blood  felt  as  light  as  ostrich 
feathers. 

Stormed  by  an  attack  of  his  cacoethes  scribendi, 
after  those  few  blank  days  at  Becket,  Felix  saw  noth- 
ing amiss  with  his  young  daughter.  The  great  ob- 
server was  not  observant  of  things  that  other  people 
observed.  Neither  he  nor  Flora,  occupied  with  mat- 
ters of  more  spiritual  importance,  could  tell,  offhand, 
for  example,  on  which  hand  a  wedding-ring  was  worn. 
They  had  talked  enough  of  Becket  and  the  Tods  to 
produce  the  impression  on  Flora's  mind  that  one  day 
or  another  two  young  people  would  arrive  in  her 
house  on  a  visit;  but  she  had  begun  a  poem  called 
'  Dionysus  at  the  Well/  and  Felix  himself  had  plunged 
into  a  satiric  allegory  entitled '  The  Last  of  the  Labor- 
no 


THE  FREELANDS  141 

ers.'  Nedda,  therefore,  walked  alone;  but  at  her  side 
went  always  an  Invisible  companion.  In  that  long, 
imaginary  walking-out  she  gave  her  thoughts  and 
the  whole  of  her  heart,  and  to  be  doing  this  never 
surprised  her,  who,  before,  had  not  given  them  whole 
to  anything.  A  bee  knows  the  first  summer  day  and 
clings  intoxicated  to  its  flowers;  so  did  Nedda  know 
and  cling.  She  wrote  him  two  letters  and  he  wrote 
her  one.  It  was  not  poetry;  indeed,  it  was  almost  all 
concerned  with  Wilmet  Gaunt,  asking  Nedda  to  find 
a  pla,ce  in  London  where  the  girl  could  go;  but  it 
ended  with  the  words : 

"Your  lover, 

"DEREK." 

This  letter  troubled  Nedda.  She  would  have 
taken  it  at  once  to  Felix  or  to  Flora  if  it  had.  not  been 
for  the  first  words,  "Dearest  Nedda,"  and  those  last 
,.  three.  Except  her  mother,  she  instinctively  dis- 
trusted women  in  such  a  matter  as  that  of  Wilmet 
Gaunt,  feeling  they  would  want  to  know  more  than 
she  could  tell  them,  and  not  be  too  tolerant  of  what 
they  heard.  Casting  about,  at  a  loss,  she  thought 
suddenly  of  Mr.  Cuthcott. 

At  dinner  that  day  she  fished  round  carefully. 
Felix  spoke  of  him  almost  warmly.  What  Cuthcott 
could  have  been  doing  at  Becket,  of  all  places,  he 
could  not  imagine — the  last  sort  of  man  one  expected 
to  see  there;  a  good  fellow,  rather  desperate,  perhaps, 
as  men  of  his  age  were  apt  to  get  if  they  had  too  many 
women,  or  no  woman,  about  them. 


142  THE  FREELANDS 

Which,  said  Nedda,  had  Mr.  Cuthcott? 

Oh !  None.  How  had  he  struck  Nedda  ?  And 
Felix  looked  at  his  little  daughter  with  a  certain 
humble  curiosity.  He  always  felt  that  the  young 
instinctively  knew  so  much  more  than  he  did. 

"  I  liked  him  awfully.     He  was  like  a  dog. " 

"Ah !"  said  Felix,  "he  is  like  a  dog — very  honest; 
he  grins  and  runs  about  the  city,  and  might  be  in- 
clined to  bay  the  moon. " 

'I  don't  mind  that/  Nedda  thought,  'so  long  as  he's 
not "  superior. " 

"He's  very  human/'  Felix  added. 

And  having  found  out  that  he  lived  hi  Gray's  Inn, 
Nedda  thought:  'I  will;  I'll  ask  him.' 

To  put  her  project  into  execution,  she  wrote  this 
note: 

"DEAR  MR.  CUTHCOTT: 

"You  were  so  kind  as  to  tell  me  you  wouldn't  mind  if  I 
bothered  you  about  things.  I've  got  a  very  bothery  thing 
to  know  what  to  do  about,  and  I  would  be  so  glad  of  your 
advice.  It  so  happens  that  I  can't  ask  my  father  and 
mother.  I  hope  you  won't  think  me  very  horrible,  wasting 
your  time.  And  please  say  no,  if  you'd  rather. 

"Yours  sincerely, 

'NEDDA  FREELAND." 

The  answer  came: 

"DEAR  Miss  FREELAND: 

"Delighted.  But  if  very  bothery,  better  save  time  and 
ink,  and  have  a  snack  of  lunch  with  me  to-morrow  at  the 
Elgin  restaurant,  close  to  the  British  Museum.  Quiet  and 
respectable.  No  flowers  by  request.  One  o'clock. 

"Very  truly  yours, 

"  GILES  CUTHCOTT.  " 


THE  FREELANDS  143 

Putting  on  'no  flowers'  and  with  a  fast-beating 
heart,  Nedda,  went  on  her  first  lonely  adventure. 
To  say  truth  she  did  not  know  in  the  least  how  ever 
she  was  going  to  ask  this  almost  strange  man  about 
a  girl  of  doubtful  character.  But  she  kept  saying  to 
herself:  'I  don't  care — he  has  nice  eyes/  And  her 
spirit  would  rise  as  she  got  nearer,  because,  after  all, 
she  was  going  to  find  things  out,  and  to  find  things 
out  was  jolly.  The  new  warmth  and  singing  in  her 
heart  had  not  destroyed,  but  rather  heightened,  her 
sense  of  the  extraordinary  interest  of  all  things  that 
be.  And  very  mysterious  to  her  that  morning  was 
the  kaleidoscope  of  Oxford  Street  and  its  innumer- 
able girls,  and  women,  each  going  about  her  business, 
with  a  life  of  her  own  that  was  not  Nedda's.  For 
men  she  had  little  use  just  now,  they  had  acquired  a 
certain  insignificance,  not  having  gray-black  eyes  that 
smoked  and  flared,  nor  Harris  tweed  suits  that 
smelled  delicious.  Only  once  on  her  journey  from 
Oxford  Circus  she  felt  the  sense  of  curiosity  rise  in  her, 
in  relation  to  a  man,  and  this  was  when  she  asked  a 
policeman  at  Tottenham  Court  Road,  and  he  put  his 
head  down  fully  a  foot  to  listen  to  her.  So  huge,  so 
broad,  so  red  in  the  face,  so  stolid,  it  seemed  wonder- 
ful to  her  that  he  paid  her  any  attention !  If  he 
were  a  human  being,  could  she  really  be  one,  too? 
But  that,  after  all,  was  no  more  odd  than  everything. 
Why,  for  instance,  the  spring  flowers  in  that  woman's 
basket  had  been  born;  why  that  high  white  cloud 
floated  over;  why  and  what  was  Nedda  Freeland? 

At  the  en  trance"  of  the  little  restaurant  she  saw  Mr. 


144  THE  FREELANDS 

Cuthcott  waiting.  In  a  brown  suit,  with  his  pale  but 
freckled  face,  and  his  gnawed-at,  sandy  moustache, 
and  his  eyes  that  looked  out  and  beyond,  he  was  cer- 
tainly no  beauty.  But  Nedda  thought:  'He's  even 
nicer  than  I  remembered,  and  I'm  sure  he  knows  a 
lot.' 

At  first,  to  be  sitting  opposite  to  him,  in  front  of 
little  plates  containing  red  substances  and  small 
fishes,  was  so  exciting  that  she  simply  listened  to  his 
rapid,  rather  stammering  voice  mentioning  that  the 
English  had  no  idea  of  life  or  cookery,  that  God  had 
so  made  this  country  by  mistake  that  everything, 
even  the  sun,  knew  it.  What,  however,  would  she 
drink  ?  Chardonnet  ?  It  wasn't  bad  here. 

She  assented,  not  liking  to  confess  that  she  did  not 
know  what  Chardonnet  might  be,  and  hoping  it  was 
some  kind  of  sherbet.  She  had  never  yet  drunk  wine, 
and  after  a  glass  felt  suddenly  extremely  strong. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Cuthcott,  and  his  eyes  twinkled, 
"what's  your  botheration?  I  suppose  you  want  to 
strike  out  for  yourself.  My  daughters  did  that  with- 
out consulting  me. " 

"  Oh !    Have  you  got  daughters  ?  " 

"Yes — funny  ones;  older  than  you." 

"That's  why  you  understand,  then. " 

Mr.  Cuthcott  smiled.  "  They  were  a  liberal  educa- 
tion!" 

And  Nedda  thought:  'Poor  Dad,  I  wonder  if  I 
am!' 

"Yes,"  Mr.  Cuthcott  murmured,  "who  would 
think  a  gosling  would  ever  become  a  goose?" 


THE  FREELANDS  145 

"Ah!"  said  Nedda  eagerly,  "isn't  it  wonderful 
how  things  grow?" 

She  felt  his  eyes  suddenly  catch  hold  of  hers. 

"  You're  in  love ! "  he  said. 

It  seemed  to  her  a  great  piece  of  luck  that  he  had 
found  that  out.  It  made  everything  easy  at  once, 
and  her  words  came  out  pell-mell. 

"Yes,  and  I  haven't  told  my  people  yet.  I  don't 
seem  able.  He's  given  me  something  to  do,  and  I 
haven't  much  experience." 

A  funny  little  wriggle  passed  over  Mr.  Cuthcott's 
face.  "Yes,  yes;  go  on!  Tell  us  about  it." 

She  took  a  sip  from  her  glass,  and  the  feeling  that 
he  had  been  going  to  laugh  passed  away. 

"It's  about  the  daughter  of  a  laborer,  down  there 
in  Worcestershire,  where  he  lives,  not  very  far  from 
Becket.  He's  my  cousin,  Derek,  the  son  of  my  other 
uncle  at  Joyfields.  He  and  his  sister  feel  most  aw- 
fully strongly  about  the  laborers. " 

" Ah !"  said  Mr.  Cuthcott,  "the  laborers !  Queer 
how  they're  in  the  air,  all  of  a  sudden. " 

"This  girl  hasn't  been  very  good,  and  she  has  to  go 
from  the  village,  or  else  her  family  have.  He  wants 
me  to  find  a  place  for  her  in  London. " 

"I  see;  and  she  hasn't  been  very  good?" 

"Not  very."  She  knew  that  her  cheeks  were 
flushing,  but 'her  eyes  felt  steady,  and  seeing  that 
his  eyes  never  moved,  she  did  not  mind.  She 
went  on: 

"It's  Sir  Gerald  Malloring's  estate.  Lady  Mal- 
loring — won't ' 


146  THE  FREELANDS 

She  heard  a  snap.  Mr.  Cuthcott's  mouth  had 
closed. 

"  Oh ! "  he  said,  "  say  no  more ! " 

'He  can  bite  nicely!'  she  thought. 

Mr.  Cuthcott,  who  had  begun  lightly  thumping  the 
little  table  with  his  open  hand,  broke  out  suddenly: 

"That  petty  bullying  in  the  country !  I  know  it ! 
My  God !  Those  prudes,  those  prisms !  They're  the 
ruination  of  half  the  girls  on  the—  He  looked  at 
Nedda  and  stopped  short.  "If  she  can  do  any  kind 
of  work,  I'll  find  her  a  place.  In  fact,  she'd  better 
come,  for  a  start,  under  my  old  housekeeper.  Let 
your  cousin  know;  she  can  turn  up  any  day.  Name  ? 
Wilmet  Gaunt?  Right  you  are!"  He  wrote  it  on 
his  cuff. 

Nedda  rose  to  her  feet,  having  an  inclination  to 
seize  his  hand,  or  stroke  his  head,  or  something.  She 
subsided  again  with  a  fervid  sigh,  and  sat  exchanging 
with  him  a  happy  smile.  At  last  she  said: 

"Mr.  Cuthcott,  is  there  any  chance  of  things  like 
that  changing  ?" 

"Changing?"  He  certainly  had  grown  paler, 
and  was  again  lightly  thumping  the  table.  "  Chang- 
ing ?  By  gum !  It's  got  to  change !  This  d— d 
plu to-aristocratic  ideal !  The  weed's  so  grown  up 
that  it's  choking  us.  Yes,  Miss  Freeland,  whether 
from  inside  or  out  T  don't  know  yet,  but  there's  a 
blazing  row  coming.  Things  are  going  to  be  made 
new  before  long." 

Under  his  thumps  the  little  plates  had  begun  to 
rattle  and  leap.  And  Nedda  thought:  'I  do  like 
him.' 


THE  FREELANDS  147 

But  she  said  anxiously: 

"You  believe  there's  something  to  be  done,  then? 
Derek  is  simply  full  of  it;  I  want  to  feel  like  that,  too, 
and  I  mean  to. " 

His  face  grew  twinkly;  he  put  out  his  hand.  And 
wondering  a  little  whether  he  meant  her  to,  Nedda 
timidly  stretched  forth  her  own  and  grasped  it. 

"I  like  you,"  he  said.  "Love  your  cousin  and 
don't  worry." 

Nedda' s  eyes  slipped  into  the  distance. 

"But  I'm  afraid  for  him.  If  you  saw  him,  you'd 
know. " 

"One's  always  afraid  for  the  fellows  that  are  worth 
anything.  There  was  another  young  Freeland  at 
your  uncle's  the  other  night " 

"My  brother  Alan!" 

"  Oh !  your  brother  ?  Well,  I  wasn't  afraid  for  him, 
and  it  seemed  a  pity.  Have  some  of  this;  it's  about 
the  only  thing  they  do  well  here. " 

"Oh,  thank  you,  no.  I've  had  a  lovely  lunch. 
Mother  and  I  generally  have  about  nothing. "  And 
clasping  her  hands  she  added: 

"This  is  a  secret,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Cuthcott?" 

"Dead." 

He  laughed  and  his  face  melted  into  a  mass  of 
wrinkles.  Nedda  laughed  also  and  drank  up  the  rest 
of  her  wine.  She  felt  blissful. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Cuthcott,  "there's  nothing  like 
loving.  How  long  have  you  been  at  it  ?  " 

"Only  five  days,  but  it's  everything." 

Mr.  Guthcott  sighed.  "That's  right.  When  you 
I  can't  love,  the  only  thing  is  to  hate. " 


148  THE  FREELANDS 

"Oh!"  said  Nedda. 

Mr.  Cuthcott  again  began  banging  on  the  little 
table.  "Look  at  them,  look  at  them!"  His  eyes 
wandered  angrily  about  the  room,  wherein  sat  some 
few  who  had  passed  through  the  mills  of  gentility. 
"What  do  they  know  of  life?  Where  are  their  souls 
and  sympathies?  They  haven't  any.  I'd  like  to 
see  their  blood  flow,  the  silly  brutes." 

Nedda  looked  at  them  with  alarm  and  curiosity. 
They  seemed  to  her  somewhat  like  everybody  she 
knew.  She  said  timidly:  "Do  you  think  our  blood 
ought  to  flow,  too?" 

Mr.  Cuthcott  relapsed  into  twinkles.  "Rather! 
Mine  first!" 

'He  is  human !'  thought  Nedda.  And  she  got  up: 
"I'm  afraid  I  ought  to  go  now.  It's  been  awfully 
nice.  Thank  you  so  very  much.  Good-by!" 

He  shook  her  firm  little  hand  with  his  frail  thin 
one,  and  stood  smiling  till  the  restaurant  door  cut 
him  off  from  her  view. 

The  streets  seemed  so  gorgeously  full  of  life  now 
that  Nedda's  head  swam.  She  looked  at  it  all  with 
such  absorption  that  she  could  not  tell  one  thing  from 
another.  It  seemed  rather  long  to  the  Tottenham 
Court  Road,  though  she  noted  carefully  the  names 
of  all  the  streets  she  passed,  and  was  sure  she  had  not 
missed  it.  She  came  at  last  to  one  called  Poultry. 
'Poultry!'  she  thought;  'I  should  have  remembered 
that — Poultry?'  And  she  laughed.  It  was  so 
sweet  and  feathery  a  laugh  that  the  driver  of  an  old 
four-wheeler  stopped  his  horse.  He  was  old  and 


THE  FREELANDS  149 

anxious-looking,  with  a  gray  beard  aad  deep  folds  La 
his  red  cheeks. 

"Poultry !"  she  said.  " Please,  am  I  right  for  the 
Tottenham  Court  Road?" 

The  old  man  answered:  "Glory,  no,  miss;  you're 
goin'East!" 

'East!'  thought  Nedda;  'I'd  better  take  him.' 
And  she  got  in.  She  sat  in  the  four-wheeler,  smiling. 
And  how  far  this  was  due  to  Chardonnet  she  did  not 
consider.  She  was  to  love  and  not  worry.  It  was 
wonderful !  In  this  mood  she  was  put  down,  still 
smiling,  at  the  Tottenham  Court  Road  Tube,  and 
getting  out  her  purse  she  prepared  to  pay  the  cabman. 
The  fare  would  be  a  shilling,  but  she  felt  like  giving 
him  two.  He  looked  so  anxious  and  worn,  in  spite 
of  his  red  face.  He  took  them,  looked  at  her,  and 
said:  "Thank  you,  miss;  I  wanted  that." 

"Oh!"  murmured  Nedda,  "then  please  take  this, 
too.  It's  all  I  happen  to  have,  except  my  Tube 
fare." 

The  old  man  took  it,  and  water  actually  ran  along 
his  nose. 

"God  bless  yer!"  he  said.  And  taking  up  his 
whip,  he  drove  off  quickly. 

Rather  choky,  but  still  glowing,  Nedda  descended 
to  her  train.  It  was  not  till  she  was  walking  to  the 
Spaniard's  Road  that  a  cloud  seemed  to  come  over 
her  sky,  and  she  reached  home  dejected. 

In  the  garden  of  the  Freelands'  old  house  was  a 
nook  shut  away  by  berberis  and  rhododendrons, 
where  some  bees  were  supposed  to  make  honey,  but, 


150  THE  FREELANDS 

knowing  its  destination,  and  belonging  to  a  union, 
made  no  more  than  they  were  obliged.  In  this  re- 
treat, which  contained  a  rustic  bench,  Nedda  was  ac- 
customed to  sit  and  read;  she  went  there  now.  And 
her  eyes  began  filling  with  tears.  Why  must  the  poor 
old  fellow  who  had  driven  her  look  so  anxious  and  call 
on  God  to  bless  her  for  giving  him  that  little  present  ? 
Why  must  people  grow  old  and  helpless,  like  that 
Grandfather  Gaunt  she  had  seen  at  Becket?  Why 
was  there  all  the  tyranny  that  made  Derek  and 
Sheila  so  wild?  And  all  the  grinding  poverty  that 
she  herself  could  see  when  she  went  with  her  mother 
to  their  Girls'  Club,  in  Bethnal  Green?  What  was 
the  use  of  being  young  and  strong  if  nothing  hap- 
pened, nothing  was  really  changed,  so  that  one  got 
old  and  died  seeing  still  the  same  things  as  before? 
What  was  the  use  even  of  loving,  if  love  itself  had  to 
yield  to  death  ?  The  trees !  How  they  grew  from 
tiny  seeds  to  great  and  beautiful  things,  and  then 
slowly,  slowly  dried  and  decayed  away  to  dust. 
What  was  the  good  of  it  all?  What  comfort  was 
there  in  a  God  so  great  and  universal  that  he  did  not 
care  to  keep  her  and  Derek  alive  and  loving  forever, 
and  was  not  interested  enough  to  see  that  the  poor 
old  cab-driver  should  not  be  haunted  day  and  night 
with  fear  of  the  workhouse  for  himself  and  an  old 
wife,  perhaps?  Nedda's  tears  fell  fast,  and  how  far 
this  was  Chardonnet  no  one  could  tell. 

Felix,  seeking  inspiration  from  the  sky  in  regard 
to  'The  Last  of  the  Laborers/  heard  a  noise  like  sob- 
bing, and,  searching,  found  his  little  daughter  sitting 


THE  FREELANDS  151 

there  and  crying  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  The 
sight  was  so  unusual  and  so  utterly  disturbing  that 
he  stood  rooted,  quite  unable  to  bring  her  help. 
Should  he  sneak  away?  Should  he  go  for  Flora? 
What  should  he  do  ?  Like  many  men  whose  work 
keeps  them  centred  within  themselves,  he  instinc- 
tively avoided  everything  likely  to  pain  or  trouble 
him;  for  this  reason,  when  anything  did  pene- 
trate those  mechanical  defences  he  became  almost 
strangely  tender.  Loath,  for  example,  to  believe  that 
any  one  was  ill,  if  once  convinced  of  it,  he  made  so 
good  a  nurse  that  Flora,  at  any  rate,  was  in  the  habit 
of  getting  well  with  suspicious  alacrity.  Thoroughly 
moved  now,  he  sat  down  on  the  bench  beside  Nedda, 
and  said : 

"  My  darling!" 

She  leaned  her  forehead  against  his  arm  and 
sobbed  the  more. 

Felix  waited,  patting  her  far  shoulder  gently. 

He  had  often  dealt  with  such  situations  in  his 
books,  and  now  that  one  had  come  true  was  com- 
pletely at  a  loss.  He  could  not  even  begin  to  re- 
member what  was  usually  said  or  done,  and  he  only 
made  little  soothing  noises. 

To  Nedda  this  tenderness  brought  a  sudden  sharp 
sense  of  guilt  and  yearning.  She  began: 

"It's  not  because  of  that  I'm  crying,  Dad,  but  I 
want  you  to  know  that  Derek  and  I  are  in  love. " 

The  words:  'You !  What !  In  those  few  days ! ' 
rose,  and  got  as  far  as  Felix's  teeth;  he  swallowed 
them  and  went  on  patting  her  shoulder.  Nedda  in 


152  THE  FREELANDS 

love !  He  felt  blank  and  ashy.  That  special  feeling 
of  owning  her  more  than  any  one  else,  which  was  so 
warming  and  delightful,  so  really  precious — it 
would  be  gone !  What  right  had  she  to  take  it  from 
him,  thus,  without  warning !  Then  he  remembered 
how  odious  he  had  always  said  the  elderly  were,  to 
spoke  the  wheels  of  youth,  and  managed  to  murmur: 

"  Good  luck  to  you,  my  pretty ! " 

He  said  it,  conscious  that  a  father  ought  to  be 
saying: 

'You're  much  too  young,  and  he's  your  cousin!' 
But  what  a  father  ought  to  say  appeared  to  him  just 
then  both  sensible  and  ridiculous.  Nedda  rubbed 
her  cheek  against  his  hand. 

"It  won't  make  any  difference,  Dad,  I  promise 
you!" 

And  Felix  thought:  'Not  to  you,  only  to  me ! ' 
But  he  said: 

"Not  a  scrap,  my  love!  What  were  you  crying 
about?" 

"About  the  world;  it  seems  so  heartless. " 

And  she  told  him  about  the  water  that  had  run 
along  the  nose  of  the  old  four-wheeler  man. 

But  while  he  seemed  to  listen,  Felix  thought:  'I 
wish  to  God  I  were  made  of  leather;  then  I  shouldn't 
feel  as  if  I'd  lost  the  warmth  inside  me.  I  mustn't 
let  her  see.  Fathers  are  queer — I  always  suspected 
that.  There  goes  my  work  for  a  good  week ! '  Then 
he  answered: 

"No,  my  dear,  the  world  is  not  heartless;  it's  only 
arranged  according  to  certain  necessary  contraries: 


THE  FREELANDS  153 

No  pain,  no  pleasure;  no  dark,  no  light,  and  the  rest 
of  it.  If  you  think  it  couldn't  be  arranged  differ- 
ently." 

As  he  spoke  a  blackbird  came  running  with  a 
chuckle  from  underneath  the  berberis,  looked  at 
them  with  alarm,  and  ran  back.  Nedda  raised  her 
face.  * 

"  Dad,  I  mean  to  do  something  with  my  life ! "     / 

Felix  answered : 

"Yes.    That's  right." 

But  long  after  Nedda  had  fallen  into  dreams  that 
night,  he  lay  awake,  with  his  left  foot  enclosed  be- 
tween Floras',  trying  to  regain  that  sense  of  warmth 
which  he  knew  he  must  never  confess  to  having  lost. 


CHAPTER   XV 

FLORA  took  the  news  rather  with  the  air  of  a 
mother-dog  that  says  to  her  puppy:  "Oh,  very  well, 
young  thing !  Go  and  stick  your  teeth  in  it  and  find 
out  for  yourself !"  Sooner  or  later  this  always  hap- 
pened, and  generally  sooner  nowadays.  Besides, 
she  could  not  help  feeling  that  she  would  get  more 
of  Felix,  to  her  a  matter  of  greater  importance  than 
she  gave  sign  of.  But  inwardly  the  news  had  given 
her  a  shock  almost  as  sharp  as  that  felt  by  him.  Was 
she  really  the  mother  of  one  old  enough  to  love? 
Was  the  child  that  used  to  cuddle  up  to  her  in  the 
window-seat  to  be  read  to,  gone  from  her;  that  used 
to  rush  in  every  morning  at  all  inconvenient  moments 
of  her  toilet;  that  used  to  be  found  sitting  in  the  dark 
on  the  stairs,  like  a  little  sleepy  owl,  because,  for- 
sooth, it  was  so  '  cosey '  ? 

Not  having  seen  Derek,  she  did  not  as  yet  share 
her  husband's  anxiety  on  that  score,  though  his  de- 
scription was  dubious: 

"Upstanding  young  cockerel,  swinging  his  sporran 
and  marching  to  pipes — a  fine  spurn  about  him ! 
Born  to  trouble,  if  I  know  anything,  trying  to  sweep 
the  sky  with  his  little  broom !" 

"Is  he  a  prig ?" 

"No-o.  There's  simplicity  about  his  scorn,  and 

154 


THE  FREELANDS  155 

he  seems  to  have  been  brought  up  on  facts,  not  on 
literature,  like  most  of  these  young  monkeys.  The 
cousinship  I  don't  think  matters;  Kirs  teen  brings  in 
too  strong  an  out-strain.  He's  her  son,  not  Tod's. 
But  perhaps,"  he  added,  sighing,  "it  won't  last." 

Flora  shook  her  head.  "It  will  last!"  she  said; 
"Nedda'sdeep." 

And  if  Nedda  held,  so  would  Fate;  no  one  would 
throw  Nedda  over !  They  naturally  both  felt  that. 
1  Dionysus  at  the  Well,'  no  less  than  'The  Last  of  the 
Laborers,'  had  a  light  week  of  it. 

Though  in  a  sense  relieved  at  having  parted  with 
her  secret,  Nedda  yet  felt  that  she  had  committed 
desecration.  Suppose  Derek  should  mind  her  people 
knowing ! 

On  the  day  that  he  and  Sheila  were  to  come,  feeling 
she  could  not  trust  herself  to  seem  even  reasonably 
calm,  she  started  out,  meaning  to  go  to  the  South 
Kensington  Museum  and  wander  the  time  away 
there;  but  once  out-of-doors  the  sky  seemed  what 
she  wanted,  and,  turning  down  the  hill  on  the  north 
side,  she  sat  down  under  a  gorse  bush.  Here  tramps, 
coming  in  to  London,  passed  the  night  under  the 
stars;  here  was  a  vision,  however  dim,  of  nature. 
And  nature  alone  could  a  little  soothe  her  ecstatic 
nerves. 

How  would  he  greet  her  ?  Would  he  be  exactly  as 
he  was  when  they  stood  at  the  edge  of  Tod's  orchard, 
above  the  dreamy,  darkening  fields,  joining  hands 
and  lips,  moved  as  they  had  never  been  moved 
before  ? 


156  THE  FREELANDS 

May  blossom  was  beginning  to  come  out  along  the 
hedge  of  the  private  grounds  that  bordered  that  bit 
of  Cockney  Common,  and  from  it,  warmed  by  the 
sun,  the  scent  stole  up  to  her.  Familiar,  like  so 
many  children  of  the  cultured  classes,  with  the  pagan 
and  fairy-tales  of  nature,  she  forgot  them  all  the  mo- 
ment she  was  really  by  herself  with  earth  and  sky. 
In  their  breadth,  their  soft  and  stirring  continuity, 
they  rejected  bookish  fancy,  and  woke  in  her  rapture 
and  yearning,  a  sort  of  long  delight,  a  never-appeased 
hunger.  Crouching,  hands  round  knees,  she  turned 
her  face  to  get  the  warmth  of  the  sun,  and  see  the 
white  clouds  go  slowly  by,  and  catch  all  the  songs 
that  the  birds  sang.  And  every  now  and  then  she 
drew  a  deep  breath.  It  was  true  what  Dad  had  said  : 
There  was  no  real  heartlessness  in  nature.  It  was 
warm,  beating,  breathing.  And  if  things  ate  each 
other,  what  did  it  matter?  They  had  lived  and  died 
quickly,  helping  to  make  others  live.  The  sacred 
swing  and  circle  of  it  went  on  forever,  full  and  har- 
monious under  the  lighted  sky,  under  the  friendly 
stars.  It  was  wonderful  to  be  alive !  And  all  done 
by  love.  Love!  More,  more,  more  love!  And 
then  death,  if  it  must  come !  For,  after  all,  to  Nedda 
death  was  so  far  away,  so  unimaginably  dim  and  dis- 
tant, that  it  did  not  really  count. 

While  she  sat,  letting  her  fingers,  that  were  grow- 
ing slowly  black,  scrabble  the  grass  and  fern,  a  feeling 
came  on  her  of  a  Presence,  a  creature  with  wings 
above  and  around,  that  seemed  to  have  on  its  face  a 
long,  mysterious  smile  of  which  she,  Nedda,  was  her- 


THE  FREELANDS  157 

self  a  tiny  twinkle.  She  would  bring  Derek  here. 
They  two  would  sit  together  and  let  the  clouds  go 
over  them,  and  she  would  learn  all  that  he  really 
thought,  and  tell  him  all  her  longings  and  fears;  they 
would  be  silent,  too,  loving  each  other  too  much  to 
talk.  She  made  elaborate  plans  of  what  they  were 
to  do  and  see,  beginning  with  the  East  End  and  the 
National  Gallery,  and  ending  with  sunrise  from 
Parliament  Hill;  but  she  somehow  knew  that  nothing 
would  happen  as  she  had  designed.  If  only  the  first 
moment  were  not  different  from  what  she  hoped ! 

She  sat  there  so  long  that  she  rose  quite  stiff,  and 
so  hungry  that  she  could  not  help  going  home  and 
stealing  into  the  kitchen.  It  was  three  o'clock,  and 
the  old  cook,  as  usual,  asleep  in  an  armchair,  with  her 
apron  thrown  up  between  her  face  and  the  fire. 
What  would  Cookie  say  if  she  knew  ?  In  that  oven 
she  had  been  allowed  to  bake  in  fancy  perfect  little 
doll  loaves,  while  Cookie  baked  them  in  reality.. 
Here  she  had  watched  the  mysterious  making  of  pink 
cream,  had  burned  countless  ' goes'  of  toffy,  and 
cocoanut  ice ;  and  tasted  all  kinds  of  loveliness.  Dear 
old  Cookie !  Stealing  about  on  tiptoe,  seeking  what 
she  might  devour,  she  found  four  small  jam  tarts  and 
ate  them,  while  the  cook  snored  softly.  Then,  by 
the  table,  that  looked  so  like  a  great  loaf-platter,  she 
stood  contemplating  cook.  Old  darling,  with  her 
fat,  pale,  crumply  face  !  Hung  to  the  dresser,  oppo- 
site, was  a  little  mahogany  looking-glass  tilted  for- 
ward. Nedda  could  see  herself  almost  down  to  her 
toes.  ( I  mean  to  be  prettier  than  I  am ! '  she  thought, 


158  THE  FREELANDS 

putting  her  hands  on  her  waist.  i  I  wonder  if  I  can 
pull  them  in  a  bit ! '  Sliding  her  fingers  under  her 
blouse,  she  began  to  pull  at  certain  strings.  They 
would  not  budge.  They  were  loose,  yes,  really  too 
comfortable.  She  would  have  to  get  the  next  size 
smaller !  And  dropping  her  chin,  she  rubbed  it  on  the 
lace  edging  of  her  chest,  where  it  felt  warm  and 
smelled  piny.  Had  Cookie  ever  been  in  love  ?  Her 
gray  hairs  were  coming,  poor  old  duck !  The  windows, 
where  a  protection  of  wire  gauze  kept  out  the  flies, 
were  opened  wide,  and  the  sun  shone  in  and  dimmed 
the  fire.  The  kitchen  clock  ticked  like  a  conscience; 
a  faint  perfume  of  frying-pan  and  mint  scented  the 
air.  And,  for  the  first  time  since  this  new  sensation 
of  love  had  come  to  her,  Nedda  felt  as  if  a  favorite 
book,  read  through  and  done  with,  were  dropping 
from  her  hands.  The  lovely  times  in  that  kitchen, 
in  every  nook  of  that  old  house  and  garden,  would 
never  come  again !  Gone !  She  felt  suddenly  cast 
down  to  sadness.  They  had  been  lovely  times  !  To 
be  deserting  in  spirit  all  that  had  been  so  good  to  her 
—it  seemed  like  a  crime !  She  slid  down  off  the 
table  and,  passing  behind  the  cook,  put  her  arms 
round  those  substantial  sides.  Without  meaning 
to,  out  of  sheer  emotion,  she  pressed  them  somewhat 
hard,  and,  as  from  a  concertina  emerges  a  jerked  and 
drawn-out  chord,  so  from  the  cook  came  a  long,  quak- 
ing sound;  her  apron  fell,  her  body  heaved,  and  her 
drowsy,  flat,  soft  voice,  greasy  from  pondering  over 
dishes,  murmured : 

"Ah,  Miss  Nedda !  it's  you,  my  dear !    Bless  your 
pretty  reart." 


THE  FREELANDS  159 

But  down  Nedda's  cheeks,  behind  her,  rolled  two 
tears. 

'  Cookie,  oh,  Cookie ! "    And  she  ran  out.  .  .  . 

And  the  first  moment?  It  was  like  nothing  she 
had  dreamed  of.  Strange,  stiff !  One  darting  look, 
and  then  eyes  down;  one  convulsive  squeeze,  then 
such  a  formal  shake  of  hot,  dry  hands,  and  off  he  had 
gone  with  Felix  to  his  room,  and  she  with  Sheila  to 
hers,  bewildered,  biting  down  consternation,  trying 
desperately  to  behave  'like  a  little  lady/  as  her  old 
nurse  would  have  put  it — before  Sheila,  especially,  y 
whose  hostility  she  knew  by  instinct  she  had  earned. 
All  that  evening,  furtive  watching,  formal  talk,  and 
underneath  a  ferment  of  doubt  and  fear  and  longing. 
All  a  mistake !  An  awful  mistake !  Did  he  love  her  ? 
Heaven !  If  he  did  not,  she  could  never  face  any 
one  again.  He  could  not  love  her !  His  eyes  were 
like  those  of  a  swan  when  its  neck  is  drawn  up  and 
back  hi  anger.  Terrible — having  to  show  nothing, 
having  to  smile  at  Sheila,  at  Dad,  arid  Mother !  And 
when  at  last  she  got  to  her  room,  she  stood  at  the 
window  and  at  first  simply  leaned  her  forehead 
against  the  glass  and  shivered.  What  had  she  done? 
Had  she  dreamed  it  all — dreamed  that  they  had 
stood  together  under  those  boughs  in  the  darkness, 
and  through  their  lips  exchanged  their  hearts?  She 
must  have  dreamed  it !  Dreamed  that  most  won- 
derful, false  dream!  And  the  walk  home  in  the 
thunder-storm,  and  his  arm  round  her,  and  her  let- 
ters, and  his  letter — dreamed  it  all !  And  now  she 
was  awake !  From  her  lips  came  a  little  moan,  and 
she  sank  down  huddled,  and  stayed  there  ever  so 


160  THE  FREELANDS 

long,  numb  and  chilly.  Undress — go  to  bed?  Not 
for  the  world.  By  the  time  the  morning  came  she 
had  got  to  forget  that  she  had  dreamed.  For  very 
shame  she  had  got  to  forget  that;  no  one  should  see. 
Her  cheeks  and  ears  and  lips  were  burning,  but  her 
body  felt  icy  cold.  Then — what  time  she  did  not 
know  at  all — she  felt  she  must  go  out  and  sit  on  the 
stairs.  They  had  always  been  her  comforters,  those 
wide,  shallow,  cosey  stairs.  Out  and  down  the  pas- 
sage, past  all  their  rooms — his  the  last — to  the  dark 
stairs,  eerie  at  night,  where  the  scent  of  age  oozed 
out  of  the  old  house.  All  doors  below,  above,  were 
closed;  it  was  like  looking  down  into  a  well,  to  sit 
with  her  head  leaning  against  the  banisters.  And 
silent,  so  silent — just  those  faint  creakings  that  come 
from  nowhere,  as  it  might  be  the  breathing  of  the 
house.  She  put  her  arms  round  a  cold  banister  and 
hugged  it  hard.  It  hurt  her,  and  she  embraced  it  the 
harder.  The  first  tears  of  self-pity  came  welling  up, 
and  without  warning  a  great  sob  burst  out  of  her. 
Alarmed  at  the  sound,  she  smothered  her  mouth 
with  her  arm.  No  good;  they  came  breaking  out ! 
A  door  opened;  all  the  blood  rushed  to  her  heart  and 
away  from  it,  and  with  a  little  dreadful  gurgle  she 
was  silent.  Some  one  was  listening.  How  long  that 
terrible  listening  lasted  she  had  no  idea;  then  foot- 
steps, and  she  was  conscious  that  it  was  standing  in 
the  dark  behind  her.  A  foot  touched  her  back.  She 
gave  a  little  gasp.  Derek's  voice  whispered  hoarsely : 

"What?    Who  are  you?" 

And,  below  her  breath,  she  answered:  "Nedda. " 


THE  FREELANDS  161 

His  arms  wrenched  her  away  from  the  banister,  his 
voice  in  her  ear  said: 

"Nedda,  darling,  Nedda!" 

But  despair  had  sunk  too  deep;  she  could  only 
quiver  and  shake  and  try  to  drive  sobbing  out  of  her 
breath.  Then,  most  queer,  not  his  words,  nor  the 
feel  of  his  arms,  comforted  her — any  one  could  pity ! 
—but  the  smell  and  the  roughness  of  his  Norfolk 
jacket.  So  he,  too,  had  not  been  in  bed;  he,  too, 
had  been  unhappy !  And,  burying  her  face  in  his 
sleeve,  she  murmured: 

"Oh,  Derek!    Why?" 

"I  didn't  want  them  all  to  see.  I  can't  bear  to 
give  it  away.  Nedda,  come  down  lower  and  let's 
love  each  other!" 

Softly,  stumbling,  clinging  together,  they  went 
down  to  the  last  turn  of  the  wide  stairs.  How  many 
times  had  she  not  sat  there,  in  white  frocks,  her  hair 
hanging  down  as  now,  twisting  the  tassels  of  little 
programmes  covered  with  hieroglyphics  only  intelli- 
gible to  herself,  talking  spasmodically  to  spasmodic 
boys  with  budding  'tails,'  while  Chinese  lanterns  let 
fall  their  rose  and  orange  light  on  them  and  all  the 
other  little  couples  as  exquisitely  devoid  of  ease. 
Ah !  it  was  worth  those  hours  of  torture  to  sit  there 
together  now,  comforting  each  other  with  hands  and 
lips  and  whisperings.  It  was  more,  as  much  more 
than  that  moment  in  the  orchard,  as  sun  shining  after 
a  Spring  storm  is  more  than  sun  in  placid  mid- July. 
To  hear  him  say:  " Nedda,  I  love  you !"  to  feel  it  in 
his  hand  clasped  on  her  heart  was  much  more,  now 


162  THE  FREELANDS 

that  she  knew  how  difficult  it  was  for  him  to  say  or 
show  it,  except  in  the  dark  with  her  alone.  Many 
a  long  day  they  might  have  gone  through  together 
that  would  not  have  shown  her  so  much  of  his  real 
heart  as  that  hour  of  whispering  and  kisses. 

He  had  known  she  was  unhappy,  and  yet  he 
couldn't !  It  had  only  made  him  more  dumb  !  It 
was  awful  to  be  like  that !  But  now  that  she  knew, 
she  was  glad  to  think  that  it  was  buried  so  deep  in  him 
and  kept  for  her  alone.  And  if  he  did  it  again  she 
would  just  know  that  it  was  only  shyness  and  pride. 
And  he  was  not  a  brute  and  a  beast,  as  he  insisted. 
But  suppose  she  had  chanced  not  to  come  out! 
Would  she  ever  have  lived  through  the  night  ?  And 
she  shivered. 

"  Are  you  cold,  darling  ?    Put  on  my  coat. " 

It  was  put  on  her  in  spite  of  all  effort  to  prevent 
him.  Never  was  anything  so  warm,  so  delicious, 
wrapping  her  in  something  more  than  Harris  tweed. 
And  the  hall  clock  struck — Two ! 

She  could  just  see  his  face  in  the  glimmer  that 
filtered  from  the  skylight  at  the  top.  And  she  felt 
that  he  was  learning  her,  learning  all  that  she  had  to 
give  him,  learning  the  trust  that  was  shining  through 
her  eyes.  There  was  just  enough  light  for  them  to 
realize  the  old  house  watching  from  below  and  from 
above5 — a  glint  on  the  dark  floor  there,  on  the  dark 
wall  here;  a  blackness  that  seemed  to  be  inhabited 
by  some  spirit,  so  that  their  hands  clutched  and 
twitched,  when  the  tiny,  tiny  noises  of  Time,  playing 
in  wood  and  stone,  clicked  out. 


THE  FREELANDS  163 

That  stare  of  the  old  house,  with  all  its  knowledge 
of  lives  past,  of  youth  and  kisses  spent  and  gone,  of 
hopes  spun  and  faiths  abashed,  the  old  house  cynical, 
stirred  in  them  desire  to  clutch  each  other  close  and 
feel  the  thrill  of  peering  out  together  into  mystery 
that  must  hold  for  them  so  much  of  love  and  joy  and 
trouble !  And  suddenly  she  put  her  fingers  to  his 
face,  passed  them  softly,  clingingly,  over  his  hair, 
forehead,  eyes,  traced  the  sharp  cheek-bones  down 
to  his  jaw,  round  by  the  hard  chin  up  to  his  lips, 
over  the  straight  bone  of  his  nose,  lingering,  back, 
to  his  eyes  again. 

"Now,  if  I  go  blind,  I  shall  know  you.  Give  me 
one  kiss,  Derek.  You  must  be  tired. " 

Buried  in  the  old  dark  house  that  kiss  lasted  long; 
then,  tiptoeing — she  in  front — pausing  at  every 
creak,  holding  breath,  they  stole  up  to  their  rooms. 
And  the  clock  struck — Three ! 


CHAPTER   XVI 

FELIX  (nothing  if  not  modern)  had  succumbed 
already  to  the  feeling  that  youth  ruled  the  roost. 
Whatever  his  misgivings,  his  and  Flora's  sense  of 
loss,  Nedda  must  be  given  a  free  hand  !  Derek  gave 
no  outward  show  of  his  condition,  and  but  for  his 
little  daughter's  happy  serenity  Felix  would  have 
thought  as  she  had  thought  that  first  night.  He  had 
a  feeling  that  his  nephew  rather  despised  one  so 
soaked  in  mildness  and  reputation  as  Felix  Freeland; 
and  he  got  on  better  with  Sheila,  not  because  she  was 
milder,  but  because  she  was  devoid  of  that  scornful 
tang  which  clung  about  her  brother.  No !  Sheila 
was  not  mild.  Rich-colored,  downright  of  speech, 
with  her  mane  of  short  hair,  she  was  a  no  less  start- 
ling companion.  The  smile  of  Felix  had  never  been 
more  whimsically  employed  than  during  that  ten-day 
visit.  The  evening  John  Freeland  came  to  dinner 
was  the  highwater  mark  of  his  alarmed  amusement. 
Mr.  Cuthcott,  also  bidden,  at  Nedda's  instigation, 
seemed  to  take  a  mischievous  delight  in  drawing  out 
those  two  young  people  in  face  of  their  official  uncle. 
The  pleasure  of  the  dinner  to  Felix — and  it  was  not 
too  great — was  in  watching  Nedda's  face.  She 
hardly  spoke,  but  how  she  listened  !  Nor  did  Derek 
say  much,  but  what  he  did  say  had  a  queer,  sarcastic 


twinge  about  it. 


164 


THE  FREELANDS  165 

"An  unpleasant  young  man,"  was  John's  com- 
ment afterward.  "How  the  deuce  did  he  ever  come 
to  be  Tod's  son?  Sheila,  of  course,  is  one  of  these 
hot-headed  young  women  that  make  themselves  a 
nuisance  nowadays,  but  she's  intelligible.  By  the 
way,  that  fellow  Cuthcott's  a  queer  chap !" 

One  subject  of  conversation  at  dinner  had  been 
the  morality  of  revolutionary  violence.  And  the 
saying  that  had  really  upset  John  had  been  Derek's: 
"  Conflagration  first — morality  afterward ! "  He  had 
looked  at  his  nephew  from  under  brows  which  a  con- 
stant need  for  rejecting  petitions  to  the  Home  Office 
had  drawn  permanently  down  and  in  toward  the  nose, 
and  made  no  answer. 

To  Felix  these  words  had  a  more  sinister  signifi- 
cance. With  his  juster  appreciation  both  of  the 
fiery  and  the  official  points  of  view,  his  far  greater 
insight  into  his  nephew  than  ever  John  would  have, 
he  saw  that  they  were  more  than  a  mere  arrow  of 
controversy.  And  he  made  up  his  mind  that  night 
that  he  would  tackle  his  nephew  and  try  to  find  out 
exactly  what  was  smouldering  within  that  crisp, 
black  pate. 

Following  him  into  the  garden  next  morning,  he 
said  to  himself:  'No  irony — that's  fatal.  Man  to 
man — or  boy  to  boy — whichever  it  is ! '  But,  on 
the  garden  path,  alongside  that  young  spread-eagle, 
whose  dark,  glowering,  self-contained  face  he  secretly 
admired,  he  merely  began: 

"How  do  you  like  your  Uncle  John?" 

"He  doesn't  like  me,  Uncle  Felix." 


1 66  THE  FREELANDS 

Somewhat  baffled,  Felix  proceeded: 

"I  say,  Derek,  fortunately  or  unfortunately,  I've 
some  claim  now  to  a  little  knowledge  of  you.  You  Ve 
got  to  open  out  a  bit  to  me.  What  are  you  going  to 
do  with  yourself  in  life?  You  can't  support  Nedda 
on  revolution. " 

Having  drawn  this  bow  at  a  venture,  he  paused, 
doubtful  of  his  wisdom.  A  glance  at  Derek's  face 
confirmed  his  doubt.  It  was  closer  than  ever,  more 
defiant. 

"  There's  a  lot  of  money  in  revolution,  Uncle  Felix 
— other  people's. " 

Dash  the  young  brute !  There  was  something  in 
him !  He  swerved  off  to  a  fresh  line. 

"How  do  you  like  London?" 

"  I  don't  like  it.  But,  Uncle  Felix,  don't  you  wish 
you  were  seeing  it  for  the  first  time?  What  books 
you'd  write!" 

Felix  felt  that  unconscious  thrust  go  'home.'  Re- 
volt against  staleness  and  clipped  wings,  against  the 
terrible  security  of  his  too  solid  reputation,  smote 
him. 

"What  strikes  you  most  about  it,  then ?  "  he  asked. 

"That  it  ought  to  be  jolly  well  blown  up.  Every- 
body seems  to  know  that,  too — they  look  it,  anyway, 
and  yet  they  go  on  as  if  it  oughtn't. " 

"Why  ought  it  to  be  blown  up?" 

"Well,  what's  the  good  of  anything  while  London 
and  all  these  other  big  towns  are  sitting  on  the  coun- 
try's chest?  England  must  have  been  a  fine  place 
once,  though!" 


THE  FREELANDS  167 

"Some  of  us  think  it  a  fine  place  still. " 

"Of  course  it  is,  in  a  way.  But  anything  new  and 
keen  gets  sat  on.  England's  like  an  old  tom-cat  by 
the  fire:  too  jolly  comfortable  for  any  thing ! '^/L.- 

At  this  support  to  his  own  theory  that  the  coun- 
try was  going  to  the  dogs,  owing  to  such  as  John 
and  Stanley,  Felix  thought:  'Out  of  the  mouths  of 
babes!'  But  he  merely  said:  "You're  a  cheerful 
young  man ! " 

"It's  got  cramp/'  Derek  muttered;  "can't  even 
give  women  votes.  Fancy  my  mother  without  a 
vote  !  And  going  to  wait  till  every  laborer  is  off  the 
land  before  it  attends  to  them.  It's  like  the  port 
you  gave  us  last  night,  Uncle  Felix,  wonderful 
crust!" 

"And  what  is  to  be  your  contribution  to  its  reno- 
vation?" 

Derek's  face  instantly  resumed  its  peculiar  defiant 
smile,  and  Felix  thought:  ' Young  beggar!  He's  as 
close  as  wax.'  After  their  little  talk,  however,  he 
had  more  understanding  of  his  nephew.  His  defiant 
self-sufficiency  seemed  more  genuine.  .  .  . 

In  spite  of  his  sensations  when  dining  with  Felix, 
John  Freeland  (little  if  not  punctilious)  decided  that 
it  was  incumbent  on  him  to  have  the  'y°ung  Tods'  to 
dinner,  especially  since  Frances  Freeland  had  come 
to  stay  with  him  the  day  after  the  arrival  of  those 
two  young  people  at  Hampstead.  She  had  reached 
Porchester  Gardens  faintly  flushed  from  the  prospect 
of  seeing  darling  John,  with  one  large  cane  trunk,  and 
a  hand-bag  of  a  pattern  which  the  man  in  the  shop 


1 68  THE  FREELANDS 

had  told  her  was  the  best  thing  out.  It  had  a  clasp 
which  had  worked  beautifully  in  the  shop,  but  which, 
for  some  reason,  on  the  journey  had  caused  her  both 
pain  and  anxiety.  Convinced,  however,  that  she 
could  cure  it  and  open  the  bag  the  moment  she  could 
get  to  that  splendid  new  pair  of  pincers  in  her  trunk, 
which  a  man  had  only  yesterday  told  her  were  the 
latest,  she  still  felt  that  she  had  a  soft  thing,  and  dear 
John  must  have  one  like  it  if  she  could  get  him  one 
at  the  Stores  to-morrow. 

John,  who  had  come  away  early  from  the  Home 
Office,  met  her  in  that  dark  hall,  to  which  he  had  paid 
no  attention  since  his  young  wife  died,  fifteen  years 
ago.  Embracing  him,  with  a  smile  of  love  almost 
timorous  from  intensity,  Frances  Freeland  looked 
him  up  and  down,  and,  catching  what  light  there  was 
gleaming  on  his  temples,  determined  that  she  had  in 
her  bag,  as  soon  as  she  could  get  it  open,  the  very 
thing  for  dear  John's  hair.  He  had  such  a  nic£ 
moustache,  and  it  was  a  pity  he  was  getting  bald. 
Brought  to  her  room,  she  sat  down  rather  suddenly, 
feeling,  as  a  fact,  very  much  like  fainting — a  condi- 
tion of  affairs  to  which  she  had  never  in  the  past 
and  intended  never  in  the  future  to  come,  making 
such  a  fuss !  Owing  to  that  nice  new  patent  clasp, 
she  had  not  been  able  to  get  at  her  smelling-salts, 
nor  the  little  flask  of  brandy  and  the  one  hard-boiled 
egg  without  which  she  never  travelled;  and  for  want 
of  a  cup  of  tea  her  soul  was  nearly  dying  within  her. 
Dear  John  would  never  think  she  had  not  had  any- 
thing since  breakfast  (she  travelled  always  by  a  slow 


THE  FREELANDS  169 

train,  disliking  motion),  and  she  would  not  for  the 
world  let  him  know — so  near  dinner-time,  giving  a 
lot  of  trouble !  She  therefore  stayed  quite  quiet, 
smiling  a  little,  for  fear  he  might  suspect  her.  Seeing 
John,  however,  put  her  bag  down  in  the  wrong  place, 
she  felt  stronger. 

"No,  darling — not  there — in  the  window." 
And  while  he  was  changing  the  position  of  the  bag, 
her  heart  swelled  with  joy  because  his  back  was  so 
straight,  and  with  the  thought: '  What  a  pity  the  dear 
boy  has  never  married  again !  It  does  so  keep  a  man 
from  getting  moony !'  With  all  that  writing  and 
thinking  he  had  to  do,  such  important  work,  too,  it 
would  have  been  so  good  for  him,  especially  at  night. 
She  would  not  have  expressed  it  thus  in  words — that 
would  not  have  been  quite  nice — but  in  thought 
Frances  Freeland  was  a  realist. 

When  he  was  gone,  and  she  could  do  as  she  liked, 
she  sat  stiller  than  ever,  knowing  by  long  experience 
that  to  indulge  oneself  in  private  only  made  it  more 
difficult  not  to  indulge  oneself  in  public.  It  really 
was  provoking  that  this  nice  new  clasp  should  go 
wrong  just  this  once,  and  that  the  first  time  it  was 
used  !  And  she  took  from  her  pocket  a  tiny  prayer- 
book,  and,  holding  it  to  the  light,  read  the  eighteenth 
psalm — it  was  a  particularly  good  one,  that  never 
failed  her  when  she  felt  low — she  used  no  glasses,  and 
up  to  the  present  had  avoided  any  line  between  the 
brows,  knowing  it  was  her  duty  to  remain  as  nice  as 
she  could  to  look  at,  so  as  not  to  spoil  the  pleasure 
of  people  round  about  her.  Then  saying  to  herself 


1 70  THE  FREELANDS 

firmly,  "I  do  not,  I  will  not  want  any  tea — but  I 
shall  be  glad  of  dinner ! "  she  rose  and  opened  her  cane 
trunk.  Though  she  knew  exactly  where  they  were, 
she  was  some  time  finding  the  pincers,  because  there 
were  so  many  interesting  things  above  them,  each 
raising  a  different  train  of  thought.  A  pair  of  field- 
glasses,  the  very  latest — the  man  had  said — for  dar- 
ling Derek;  they  would  be  so  useful  to  keep  his  mind 
from  thinking  about  things  that  it  was  no  good  think- 
ing about.  And  for  dear  Flora  (how  wonderful  that 
she  could  write  poetry — poetry !)  a  really  splendid, 
and  perfectly  new,  little  pill.  She  herself  had  already 
taken  two,  and  they  had  suited  her  to  perfection. 
For  darling  Felix  a  new  kind  of  eau  de  cologne,  made 
in  Worcester,  because  that  was  the  only  scent  he 
would  use.  For  her  pet  Nedda,  a  piece  of  'point  de 
Venise '  that  she  really  could  not  be  selfish  enough  to 
keep  any  longer,  especially  as  she  was  particularly 
fond  of  it.  For  Alan,  a  new  kind  of  tin-opener  that 
the  dear  boy  would  like  enormously;  he  was  so  nice 
and  practical.  For  Sheila,  such  a  nice  new  novel  by 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Whirlingham — a  bright,  wholesome 
tale,  with  such  a  good  description  of  quite  a  new 
country  in  it — the  dear  child  was  so  clever,  it  would 
be  a  change  for  her.  Then,  actually  resting  on  the 
pincers,  she  came  on  her  pass-book,  recently  made  up, 
containing  little  or  no  balance,  just  enough  to  get 
darling  John  that  bag  like  hers  with  the  new  clasp, 
which  would  be  so  handy  for  his  papers  when  he  went 
travelling.  And  having  reached  the  pincers,  she 
took  them  in  her  hand,  and  sat  down  again  to  be 
quite  quiet  a  moment,  with  her  still-dark  eyelashes 


THE  FREELANDS  171 

resting  on  her  ivory  cheeks  and  her  lips  pressed  to  a 
colorless  line;  for  her  head  swam  from  stooping  over. 
In  repose,  with  three  flies  circling  above  her  fine  gray 
hair,  she  might  have  served  a  sculptor  for  a  study  of 
the  stoic  spirit.  Then,  going  to  the  bag,  her  com- 
pressed lips  twitching,  her  gray  eyes  piercing  into 
its  clasp  with  a  kind  of  distrustful  optimism,  she 
lifted  the  pincers  and  tweaked  it  hard. 

If  the  atmosphere  of  that  dinner,  to  which  all  six 
from  Hampstead  came,  was  less  disturbed  than  John 
anticipated,  it  was  due  to  his  sense  of  hospitality, 
and  to  every  one's  feeling  that  controversy  would 
puzzle  and  distress  Granny.  That  there  were  things 
about  which  people  differed,  Frances  Freeland  well 
knew,  but  that  they  should  so  differ  as  to  make  them 
forget  to  smile  and  have  good  manners  would  not 
have  seemed  right  to  her  at  all.  And  of  this,  in  her 
presence,  they  were  all  conscious;  so  that  when  they 
had  reached  the  asparagus  there  was  hardly  any- 
thing left  that  could  by  any  possibility  be  talked 
about.  And  this — for  fear  of  seeming  awkward— 
they  at  once  proceeded  to  discuss,  Flora  remarking 
that  London  was  very  full.  John  agreed. 

Frances  Freeland,  smiling,  said: 

"It's  so  nice  for  Derek  and  Sheila  to  be  seeing  it 
like  this  for  the  first  time." 

Sheila  said: 

"  Why  ?    Isn't  it  always  as  full  as  this  ?  " 

John  answered : 

"In  August  practically  empty.  They  say  a  hun- 
dred thousand  people,  at  least,  go  away. " 

"Double!"    remarked   Felix. 


172  THE  FREELANDS 

"The  figures  are  variously  given.  My  esti- 
mate  " 

"One  in  sixty.    That  shows  you!" 

At  this  interruption  of  Derek's  John  frowned 
slightly.  "What  does  it  show  you ? "  he  said. 

Derek  glanced  at  his  grandmother. 

"Oh,  nothing!" 

" Of  course  it  shows  you, "  exclaimed  Sheila,  "what 
a  heartless  great  place  it  is.  All '  the  world '  goes  out 
of  town,  and  '  London's  empty ! '  But  if  you  weren't 
told  so  you'd  never  know  the  difference. " 

Derek  muttered:  "I  think  it  shows  more  than 
that." 

Under  the  table  Flora  was  touching  John's  foot 
warningly;  Nedda  attempting  to  touch  Derek's; 
Felix  endeavoring  to  catch  John's  eye;  Alan  trying 
to  catch  Sheila's;  John  biting  his  lip  and  looking 
carefully  at  nothing.  Only  Frances  Freeland  was 
smiling  and  gazing  lovingly  at  dear  Derek,  thinking 
he  would  be  so  handsome  when  he  had  grown  a  nice 
black  moustache.  And  she  said: 

"Yes,  dear.     What  were  you  going  to  say?" 

Derek  looked  up. 

"Do  you  really  want  it,  Granny  ?  " 

Nedda  murmured  across  the  table:  "No,  Derek." 

Frances  Freeland  raised  her  brows  quizzically. 
She  almost  looked  arch. 

"But  of  course  I  do,  darling.  I  want  to  hear 
immensely.  It's  so  interesting. " 

"Derek  was  going  to  say,  Mother" — every  one  at 
once  looked  at  Felix,  who  had  thus  broken  in — "  that 


THE  FREELANDS  173 

all  we  West-End  people — John  and  I  and  Flora  and 
Stanley,  and  even  you — all  we  people  born  in  purple 
and  fine  linen,  are  so  accustomed  to  think  we're  all 
that  matters,  that  when  we're  out  of  London  there's 
nobody  in  it.  He  meant  to  say  that  this  is  appalling 
enough,  but  that  what  is  still  more  appalling  is  the 
fact  that  we  really  are  all  that  matters,  and  that  if 
people  try  to  disturb  us,  we  can,  and  jolly  well  will, 
take  care  they  don't  disturb  us  long.  Is  that  what 
you  meant,  Derek  ?  " 

Derek  turned  a  rather  startled  look  on  Felix. 

"What  he  meant  to  say,"  went  on  Felix,  "was, 
that  age  and  habit,  vested  interests,  culture  and  se- 
curity sit  so  heavy  on  this  country's  chest,  that  aspira- 
tion may  wriggle  and  squirm  but  will  never  get  from 
under.  That,  for  all  we  pretend  to  admire  enthu- 
siasm and  youth,  and  the  rest  of  it,  we  push  it  out  of 
us  just  a  little  faster  than  it  grows  up.  Is  that  what 
you  meant,  Derek?  " 

"You'll  try  to,  but  you  won't  succeed!" 

"I'm  afraid  we  shall,  and  with  a  smile,  too,  so  that 
you  won't  see  us  doing  it. " 

"I  call  that  devilish." 

"I  call  it  natural.  Look  at  a  man  who's  growing 
old;  notice  how  very  gracefully  and  gradually  he  does 
it.  Take  my  hair — your  aunt  says  she  can't  tell  the 
difference  from  month  to  month.  And  there  it  is,  or 
rather  isn't— little  by  little." 

Frances  Freeland,  who  during  Felix's  long  speech 
had  almost  closed  her  eyes,  opened  them,  and  looked 
piercingly  at  the  top  of  his  head. 


174  THE  FREELANDS 

"Darling,"  she  said,  "I've  got  the  very  thing  for 
it.  You  must  take  some  with  you  when  you  go  to- 
night. John  is  going  to  try  it. " 

Checked  in  the  flow  of  his  philosophy,  Felix  blinked 
like  an  owl  surprised. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  "you  only  have  the  gift  of 
keeping  young. " 

"  Oh !  my  dear,  I'm  getting  dreadfully  old.  I  have 
the  greatest  difficulty  in  keeping  awake  sometimes 
when  people  are  talking.  But  I  mean  to  fight  against 
it.  It's  so  dreadfully  rude,  and  ugly,  too;  I  catch  my- 
self sometimes  with  my  mouth  open." 

Flora  said  quietly:  "Granny,  I  have  the  very  best 
thing  for  that — quite  new!" 

A  sweet  but  rather  rueful  smile  passed  over  Fran- 
ces Freeland's  face.  " Now, "  she  said,  "you're  chaff- 
ing me,"  and  her  eyes  looked  loving. 

It  is  doubtful  if  John  understood  the  drift  of  Felix's 
^exordium,  it  is  doubtful  if  he  had  quite  listened — he 
having  so  much  to  not  listen  to  at  the  Home  Office 
that  the  practice  was  growing  on  him.  A  vested 
interest  to  John  was  a  vested  interest,  culture  was 
culture,  and  security  was  certainly  security — none 
of  them  were  symbols  of  age.  Further,  the  social 
question — at  least  so  far  as  it  had  to  do  with  out- 
breaks of  youth  and  enthusiasm — was  too  familiar 
to  him  to  have  any  general  significance  whatever. 
What  with  women,  labor  people,  and  the  rest  of  it, 
he  had  no  time  for  philosophy— a  dubious  process  at 
the  best.  A  man  who  had  to  get  through  so  many 
daily  hours  of  real  work  did  not  dissipate  his  energy 
in  speculation.  But,  though  he  had  not  listened  to 


THE  FREELANDS  175 

Felix's  remarks,  they  had  ruffled  him.  There  is  no 
philosophy  quite  so  irritating  as  that  of  a  brother ! 
True,  no  doubt,  that  the  country  was  in  a  bad  way, 
but  as  to  vested  interests  and  security,  that  was  all 
nonsense !  The  guilty  causes  were  free  thought  and 
industrialism. 

Having  seen  them  all  off  to  Hampstead,  he  gave  his 
mother  her  good-night  kiss.  He  was  proud  of  her, 
a  wonderful  woman,  who  always  put  a  good  face  on 
everything !  Even  her  funny  way  of  always  having 
some  new  thing  or  other  to  do  you  good — even  that 
was  all  part  of  her  wanting  to  make  the  best  of  things. 
She  never  lost  her  'form' ! 

John  worshipped  that  kind  of  stoicism  which 
would  die  with  its  head  up  rather  than  live  with  its 
tail  down.  Perhaps  the  moment  of  which  he  was 
most  proud  in  all  his  life  was  that,  when,  at  the  finish 
of  his  school  mile,  he  overheard  a  vulgar  bandsman 
say:  "I  like  that  young  -  -'s  running;  he  breathes 
through  his  -  -  nose. "  At  that  moment,  if  he  had 
stooped  to  breathe  through  his  mouth,  he  must  have 
won;  as  it  was  he  had  lost  in  great  distress  and  per- 
fect form. 

When,  then,  he  had  kissed  Frances  Freeland,  and 
watched  her  ascend  the  stairs,  breathless  because 
she  would  breathe  through  her  nose  to  the  very  last 
step,  he  turned  into  his  study,  lighted  his  pipe,  and 
sat  down  to  a  couple  of  hours  of  a  report  upon  the 
forces  of  constabulary  available  in  the  various  coun- 
ties, in  the  event  of  any  further  agricultural  rioting, 
such  as  had  recently  taken  place  on  a  mild  scale  in 
one  or  two  districts  where  there  was  still  Danish 


176  THE  FREELANDS 

blood.  He  worked  at  the  numbers  steadily,  with 
just  that  engineer's  touch  of  mechanical  invention 
which  had  caused  him  to  be  so  greatly  valued  in  a 
department  where  the  evolution  of  twelve  policemen 
out  of  ten  was  constantly  desired.  His  mastery  of 
figures  was  highly  prized,  for,  while  it  had  not  any  of 
that  flamboyance  which  has  come  from  America  and 
the  game  of  poker,  it  possessed  a  kind  of  English  op- 
timism, only  dangerous  when,  as  rarely  happened, 
it  was  put  to  the  test.  He  worked  two  full  pipes  long, 
and  looked  at  the  clock.  Twelve  !  No  good  knock- 
ing off  just  yet !  He  had  no  liking  for  bed  this  many 
a  long  year,  having,  from  loyalty  to  memory  and  a 
drier  sense  of  what  became  one  in  the  Home  Depart- 
ment, preserved  his  form  against  temptations  of  the 
flesh.  Yet,  somehow,  to-night  he  felt  no  spring,  no 
inspiration,  in  his  handling  of  county  constabulary. 
A  kind  of  English  stolidity  about  them  baffled  him— 
ten  of  them  remained  ten.  And  leaning  that  fore- 
head, whose  height  so  troubled  Frances  Freeland,  on 
his  neat  hand,  he  fell  to  brooding.  Those  young 
people  with  everything  before  them !  Did  he  envy 
them?  Or  was  he  glad  of  his  own  age?  Fifty! 
Fifty  already;  a  fogey!  An  official  fogey!  For  all 
the  world  like  an  umbrella,  that  every  day  some  one 
put  into  a  stand  and  left  there  till  it  was  time  to  take 
it  out  again.  Neatly  rolled,  too,  with  an  elastic  and 
button !  And  this  fancy,  which  had  never  come  to 
him  before,  surprised  him.  One  day  he,  too,  would 
wear  out,  slit  all  up  his  seams,  and  they  would  leave 
him  at  home,  or  give  him  away  to  the  butler. 


THE  FREELANDS  177 

He  went  to  the  window.  A  scent  of — of  May,  or 
something !  And  nothing  in  sight  save  houses  just 
like  his  own !  He  looked  up  at  the  strip  of  sky 
privileged  to  hang  just  there.  He  had  got  a  bit  rusty 
with  his  stars.  There,  however,  certainly  was  Venus. 
And  he  thought  of  how  he  had  stood  by  the  ship's 
rail  on  that  honeymoon  trip  of  his  twenty  years  ago, 
giving  his  young  wife  her  first  lesson  in  counting  the 
stars.  And  something  very  deep  down,  very  mossed 
and  crusted  over  in  John's  heart,  beat  and  stirred, 
and  hurt  him.  Nedda — he  had  caught  her  looking 
at  that  young  fellow  just  as  Anne  had  once  looked 
at  him,  John  Freeland,  now  an  official  fogey,  an  um- 
brella in  a  stand.  There  was  a  policeman !  How 
ridiculous  the  fellow  looked,  putting  one  foot  before 
the  other,  flirting  his  lantern  and  trying  the  area 
gates !  This  confounded  scent  of  hawthorn — could 
it  be  hawthorn  ? — got  here  into  the  heart  of  London ! 
The  look  in  that  girl's  eyes !  What  was  he  about,  to 
let  them  make  him  feel  as  though  he  could  give  his 
soul  for  a  face  looking  up  into  his  own,  for  a  breast 
touching  his,  and  the  scent  of  a  woman's  hair.  Hang 
it !  He  would  smoke  a  cigarette  and  go  to  bed !  He 
turned  out  the  light  and  began  to  mount  the  stairs; 
they  creaked  abominably — the  felt  must  be  wearing 
out.  A  woman  about  the  place  would  have  kept  them 
quiet.  Reaching  the  landing  of  the  second  floor,  he 
paused  a  moment  from  habit,  to  look  down  into  the 
dark  hall.  A  voice,  thin,  sweet,  almost  young,  said : 

"Is  that  you,  darling?"  John's  heart  stood  still. 
What — was  that?  Then  he  perceived  that  the  door 


1 78  THE  FREELANDS 

of  the  room  that  had  been  his  wife's  was  open,  and 
remembered  that  his  mother  was  in  there. 

"  What !    Aren't  you  asleep,  Mother  ?  " 

Frances  Freeland's  voice  answered  cheerfully: "  Oh, 
no,  dear;  I'm  never  asleep  before  two.  Come  in. " 

John  entered.  Propped  very  high  on  her  pillows, 
in  perfect  regularity,  his  mother  lay.  Her  carved 
face  was  surmounted  by  a  piece  of  fine  lace,  her  thin, 
white  fingers  on  the  turnover  of  the  sheet  moved  in 
continual  interlocking,  her  lips  smiled 

"There's  something  you  must  have,"  she  said. 
"I  left  my  door  open  on  purpose.  Give  me  that 
little  bottle,  darling." 

John  took  from  a  small  table  by  the  bed  a  still 
smaller  bottle.  Frances  Freeland  opened  it,  and  out 
came  three  tiny  white  globules. 

"Now, "  she  said,  "pop  them  in !  You've  no  idea 
how  they'll  send  you  to  sleep !  They're  the  most 
splendid  things;  perfectly  harmless.  Just  let  them 
rest  on  the  tongue  and  swallow!" 

John  let  them  rest — they  were  sweetish — and 
swallowed. 

"How  is  it,  then,"  he  said,  "that  you  never  go  to 
sleep  before  two?" 

Frances  Freeland  corked  the  little  bottle,  as  if  en- 
closing within  it  that  awkward  question. 

"They  don't  happen  to  act  with  me,  darling;  but 
that's  nothing.  It's  the  very  thing  for  any  one  who 
has  to  sit  up  so  late,"  and  her  eyes  searched  his  face. 
Yes — they  seemed  to  say — I  know  you  pretend  to 
have  work;  but  if  you  only  had  a  dear  little  wife ! 


THE  FREELANDS  179 

"I  shall  leave  you  this  bottle  when  I  go.    Kiss 


me." 


John  bent  down,  and  received  one  of  those  kisses 
of  hers  that  had  such  sudden  vitality  in  the  middle 
of  them,  as  if  her  lips  were  trying  to  get  inside  his 
cheek.  From  the  door  he  looked  back.  She  was 
smiling,  composed  again  to  her  stoic  wakefulness. 

"Shall  I  shut  the  door,  Mother?" 

"Please,  darling." 

With  a  little  lump  in  his  throat  John  closed  the 
door. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE  London  which  Derek  had  said  should  be  blown 
up  was  at  its  maximum  of  life  those  May  days.  Even 
on  this  outer  rampart  of  Hampstead,  people,  engines, 
horses,  all  had  a  touch  of  the  spring  fever;  indeed, 
especially  on  this  rampart  of  Hampstead  was  there 
increase  of  the  effort  to  believe  that  nature  was  not 
dead  and  embalmed  in  books.  The  poets,  painters, 
talkers  who  lived  up  there  were  at  each  other  all  the 
time  in  their  great  game  of  make-believe.  How 
could  it  be  otherwise,  when  there  was  veritably 
blossom  on  the  trees  and  the  chimneys  were  ceasing 
to  smoke?  How  otherwise,  when  the  sun  actually 
shone  on  the  ponds  ?  But  the  four  young  people  (for 
Alan  joined  in — hypnotized  by  Sheila)  did  not  stay 
in  Hampstead.  Chiefly  on  top  of  tram  and  'bus 
they  roamed  the  wilderness.  Bethnal  Green  and 
Leytonstone,  Kensington  and  Lambeth,  St.  James's 
and  Soho,  Whitechapel,  Shoreditch,  West  Ham,  and 
Piccadilly,  they  traversed  the  whole  ant-heap  at  its 
most  ebullient  moment.  They  knew  their  Whitman 
and  their  Dostoievsky  sufficiently  to  be  aware  that 
they  ought  to  love  and  delight  in  everything — in  the 
gentleman  walking  down  Piccadilly  with  a  flower  in 
his  buttonhole,  and  in  the  lady  sewing  that  button- 
hole in  Bethnal  Green;  in  the  orator  bawling  himself 
hoarse  close  to  the  Marble  Arch,  the  coster  loading 

180 


THE  FREELANDS  181 

his  barrow  in  Covent  Garden;  and  in  Uncle  John 
Freeland  rejecting  petitions  in  Whitehall.  All  these 
things,  of  course,  together  with  the  long  lines  of  little 
gray  houses  in  Camden  Town,  long  lines  of  carts  with 
bobtail  horses  rattling  over  Blackfriars'  Bridge,  long 
smells  drifting  behind  taxicabs — all  these  things  were 
as  delightful  and  as  stimulating  to  the  soul  as  the 
clouds  that  trailed  the  heavens,  the  fronds  of  the 
lilac,  and  Leonardo's  Cartoon  in  the  Diploma  Gallery. 
All  were  equal  manifestations  of  that  energy  in  flower 
known  as  'Life.'  They  knew  that  everything  they 
saw  and  felt  and  smelled  ought  equally  to  make  them 
long  to  catch  creatures  to  their  hearts  and  cry: 
Hosanna!  And  Nedda  and  Alan,  bred  in  Hamp- 
stead,  even  knew  that  to  admit  that  these  things  did 
not  all  move  them  in  the  same  way  would  be  re- 
garded as  a  sign  of  anremia.  Nevertheless — most 
queerly — these  four  young  people  confessed  to  each 
other  all  sorts  of  sensations  besides  that  '  Hosanna' 
one.  They  even  confessed  to  rage  and  pity  and  dis- 
gust one  moment,  and  to  joy  and  dreams  the  next, 
and  they  differed  greatly  as  to  what  excited  which. 
It  was  truly  odd!  The  only  thing  on  which  they 
did  seem  to  agree  was  that  they  were  having  fa 
thundering  good  time.'  A  sort  of  sense  of  "Blow 
everything!"  was  in  their  wings,  and  this  was  due 
not  to  the  fact  that  they  were  thinking  of  and  loving 
and  admiring  the  little  gray  streets  and  the  gentle- 
man in  Piccadilly — as,  no  doubt,  in  accordance  with 
modern  culture,  they  should  have  been — but  to  the 
fact  that  they  were  loving  and  admiring  themselves, 


1 82  THE  FREELANDS 

and  that  entirely  without  the  trouble  of  thinking 
about  it  at  all.  The  practice,  too,  of  dividing  into 
couples  was  distinctly  precious  to  them,  for,  though 
they  never  failed  to  start  out  together,  they  never 
failed  to  come  home  two  by  two.  In  this  way  did 
they  put  to  confusion  Whitman  and  Dostoievsky, 
and  all  the  other  thinkers  in  Hampstead.  In  the 
daytime  they  all,  save  Alan,  felt  that  London  ought 
to  be  blown  up;  but  at  night  it  undermined  their 
philosophies  so  that  they  sat  silent  on  the  tops  of 
their  respective  'buses,  with  arms  twined  in  each 
other's.  For  then  a  something  seemed  to  have 
floated  up  from  that  mass  of  houses  and  machines, 
of  men  and  trees,  and  to  be  hovering  above  them, 
violet-colored,  caught  between  the  stars  and  the 
lights,  a  spirit  of  such  overpowering  beauty  that  it 
drenched  even  Alan  in  a  kind  of  awe.  After  all,  the 
huge  creature  that  sat  with  such  a  giant's  weight 
on  the  country's  chest,  the  monster  that  had  spoiled 
so  many  fields  and  robbed  so  many  lives  of  peace  and 
health,  could  fly  at  night  upon  blue  and  gold  and 
purple  wings,  murmur  a  passionate  lullaby,  and  fall 
into  deep  sleep ! 

One  such  night  they  went  to  the  gallery  at  the 
opera,  to  supper  at  an  oyster-shop,  under  Alan's 
pilotage,  and  then  set  out  to  walk  back  to  Hamp- 
stead, timing  themselves  to  catch  the  dawn.  They 
had  not  gone  twenty  steps  up  Southampton  Row 
before  Alan  and  Sheila  were  forty  steps  in  front. 
A  fellow-feeling  had  made  Derek  and  Nedda  stand 
to  watch  an  old  man  who  walked,  tortuous,  extremely 


THE  FREELANDS  183 

happy,  bidding  them  all  come.  And  when  they 
moved  on,  it  was  very  slowly,  just  keeping  sight  of 
the  others  across  the  lumbered  dimness  of  Covent 
Garden,  where  tarpaulin-covered  carts  and  barrows 
seemed  to  slumber  under  the  blink  of  lamps  and 
watchmen's  lanterns.  Across  Long  Acre  they  came 
into  a  street  where  there  was  not  a  soul  save  the  two 
others,  a  long  way  ahead.  Walking  with  his  arm 
tightly  laced  with  hers,  touching  her  all  down  one 
side,  Derek  felt  that  it  would  be  glorious  to  be  at- 
tacked by  night-birds  in  this  dark,  lonely  street,  to 
have  a  splendid  fight  and  drive  them  off,  showing 
himself  to  Nedda  for  a  man,  and  her  protector.  But 
nothing  save  one  black  cat  came  near,  and  that  ran 
for  its  life.  He  bent  round  and  looked  under  the 
blue  veil- thing  that  wrapped  Nedda' s  head.  Her 
face  seemed  mysteriously  lovely,  and  her  eyes,  lifted 
so  quickly,  mysteriously  true.  She  said: 

"Derek,  I  feel  like  a  hill  with  the  sun  on  it ! ' ' 

"I  feel  like  that  yellow  cloud  with  the  wind  in  it. " 

"I  feel  like  an  apple-tree  coming  into  blossom." 

" I  feel  like  a  giant." 

"  I  feel  like  a  song." 

"I  feel  I  could  sing  you. " 

"On  a  river,  floating  along." 

"A  wide  one,  with  great  plains  on  each  side,  and 
beasts  coming  down  to  drink,  and  either  the  sun  or  a 
yellow  moon  shining,  and  some  one  singing,  too,  far 
off." 

"The  Red  Sarafan." 

"Let's  run!" 


1 84  THE  FREELANDS 

From  that  yellow  cloud  sailing  in  moonlight  a  spurt 
of  rain  had  driven  into  their  faces,  and  they  ran  as 
fast  as  their  blood  was  flowing,  and  the  raindrops 
coming  down,  jumping  half  the  width  of  the  little 
dark  streets,  clutching  each  other's  arms.  And  peer- 
ing round  into  her  face,  so  sweet  and  breathless,  into 
her  eyes,  so  dark  and  dancing,  he  felt  he  could  run  all 
night  if  he  had  her  there  to  run  beside  him  through 
the  dark.  Into  another  street  they  dashed,  and 
again  another,  till  she  stopped,  panting. 

"  Where  are  we  now  ?  " 

Neither  knew.  A  policeman  put  them  right  for 
Portland  Place.  Half  past  one !  And  it  would  be 
dawn  soon  after  three !  They  walked  soberly  again 
now  into  the  outer  circle  of  Regent's  Park;  talked 
soberly,  too,  discussing  sublunary  matters,  and  every 
now  and  then,  their  arms,  round  each  other,  gave 
little  convulsive  squeezes.  The  rain  had  stopped 
and  the  moon  shone  clear;  by  its  light  the  trees  and 
flowers  were  clothed  in  colors  whose  blood  had  spilled 
away;  the  town's  murmur  was  dying,  the  house 
lights  dead  already.  They  came  out  of  the  park  into 
a  road  where  the  latest  taxis  were  rattling  past;  a 
face,  a  bare  neck,  silk  hat,  or  shirt-front  gleamed  in 
the  window-squares,  and  now  and  then  a  laugh  came 
floating  through.  They  stopped  to  watch  them 
from  under  the  low-hanging  branches  of  an  acacia- 
tree,  and  Derek,  gazing  at  her  face,  still  wet  with 
rain,  so  young  and  round  and  soft,  thought:  'And 
she  loves  me ! '  Suddenly  she  clutched  him  round 
the  neck,  and  their  lips  met. 

They  talked  not  at  all  for  a  long  time  after  that 


THE  FREELANDS  185 

kiss,  walking  slowly  up  the  long,  empty  road,  while 
the  whitish  clouds  sailed  across  the  dark  river  of  the 
sky  and  the  moon  slowly  sank.  This  was  the  most 
delicious  part  of  all  that  long  walk  home,  for  the  kiss 
had  made  them  feel  as  though  they  had  no  bodies, 
but  were  just  two  spirits  walking  side  by  side.  This 
is  its  curious  effect  sometimes  in  first  love  between 
the  very  young.  .  .  . 

Having  sent  Flora  to  bed,  Felix  was  sitting  up 
among  his  books.  There  was  no  need  to  do  this, 
for  the  young  folk  had  latch-keys,  but,  having  begun 
the  vigil,  he  went  on  with  it,  a  volume  about  Eastern 
philosophies  on  his  knee,  a  bowl  of  narcissus  blooms, 
giving  forth  unexpected  whiffs  of  odor,  beside  him. 
And  he  sank  into  a  long  reverie. 

Could  it  be  said — as  was  said  in  this  Eastern  book 
—that  man's  life  was  really  but  a  dream;  could  that 
be  said  with  any  more  truth  than  it  had  once  been 
said,  that  he  rose  again  in  his  body,  to  perpetual  life? 
Could  anything  be  said  with  truth,  save  that  wre  knew 
nothing  ?  And  was  that  not  really  what  had  always 
been  said  by  man — that  we  knew  nothing,  but  were 
just  blown  over  and  about  the  world  like  soughs  of 
wind,  in  obedience  to  some  immortal,  unknowable 
coherence !  But  had  that  want  of  knowledge  ever 
retarded  what  was  known  as  the  upward  growth  of 
man?  Had  it  ever  stopped  man  from  working, 
fighting,  loving,  dying  like  a  hero  if  need  were  ?  Had 
faith  ever  been  anything  but  embroidery  to  an  in- 
stinctive heroism,  so  strong  that  it  needed  no  such 
trappings?  Had  faith  ever  been  anything  but 


1 86  THE  FREELANDS 

anodyne,  or  gratification  of  the  aesthetic  sense?  Or 
had  it  really  body  and  substance  of  its  own?  Was 
it  something  absolute  and  solid,  that  he — Felix  Free- 
land — had  missed?  Or  again,  was  it,  perhaps,  but 
the  natural  cpac^nntant  of  youth,  a  naive  efferves- 
cence with  which  thought  and  brooding  had  to  part? 
And,  turning  the  page  of  his  book,  he  noticed  that 
he  could  no  longer  see  to  read,  the  lamp  had  grown 
too  dim,  and  showed  but  a  decorative  glow  in  the 
bright  moonlight  flooding  through  the  study  window. 
He  got  up  and  put  another  log  on  the  fire,  for  these 
last  nights  of  May  were  chilly. 

Nearly  three!  Where  were  these  young  people? 
Had  he  been  asleep,  and  they  come  in  ?  Sure  enough, 
in  the  hall  Alan's  hat  and  Sheila's  cloak — the  dark-red 
one  he  had  admired  when  she  went  forth — were  lying 
on  a  chair.  But  of  the  other  two — nothing !  He 
crept  up-stairs.  Their  doors  were  open.  They  cer- 
tainly took  their  time — these  young  lovers.  And  the 
same  sore  feeling  which  had  attacked  Felix  when 
Nedda  first  told  him  of  her  love  came  on  him  badly 
in  that  small  of  the  night  when  his  vitality  was  lowest. 
All  the  hours  she  had  spent  clambering  about  him,  or 
quietly  resting  on  his  knee  with  her  head  tucked  in 
just  where  his  arm  and  shoulder  met,  listening  while 
he  read  or  told  her  stories,  and  now  and  again  turning 
those  clear  eyes  of  hers  wide  open  to  his  face,  to  see  if 
he  meant  it;  the  wilful  little  tugs  of  her  hand  when 
they  two  went  exploring  the  customs  of  birds,  or  bees, 
or  flowers;  all  her  ' Daddy,  I  love  yous!J  and  her 
rushes  to  the  front  door,  and  long  hugs  when  he  came 


THE  FREELANDS  187 

back  from  a  travel;  all  those  later  crookings  of  her 
little  finger  in  his,  and  the  times  he  had  sat  when  she 
did  not  know  it,  watching  her,  and  thinking:  'That 
little  creature,  with  all  that's  before  her,  is  my  very 
own  daughter  to  take  care  of,  and  share  joy  and  sor- 
row with.  .  .  .'  Each  one  of  all  these  seemed  to  come 
now  and  tweak  at  him,  as  the  songs  of  blackbirds 
tweak  the  heart  of  one  who  lies,  unable  to  get  out 
into  the  Spring.  His  lamp  had  burned  itself  quite 
out;  the  moon  was  fallen  below  the  clump  of  pines, 
and  away  to  the  north-east  something  stirred  in  the 
stain  and  texture  of  the  sky.  Felix  opened  the 
window.  What  peace  out  there !  The  chill,  scent- 
less peace  of  night,  waiting  for  dawn's  renewal  of 
warmth  and  youth.  Through  that  bay  window  fac- 
ing north  he  could  see  on  one  side  the  town,  still  wan 
with  the  light  of  its  lamps,  on  the  other  the  country, 
whose  dark  bloom  was  graying  fast.  Suddenly  a 
tiny  bird  twittered,  and  Felix  saw  his  two  truants 
coming  slowly  from  the  gate  across  the  grass,  his  arm 
round  her  shoulders,  hers  round  his  waist.  With 
their  backs  turned  to  him,  they  passed  the  corner  of 
the  house,  across  where  the  garden  sloped  away. 
There  they  stood  above  the  wide  country,  their 
bodies  outlined  against  a  sky  fast  growing  light, 
evidently  waiting  for  the  sun  to  rise.  Silent  they 
stood,  while  the  birds,  one  by  one,  twittered  out  their 
first  calls.  And  suddenly  Felix  saw  the  boy  fling  his 
hand  up  into  the  air.  The  Sun !  Far  away  on  the 
gray  horizon  was  a  flare  of  red ! 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

THE  anxieties  of  the  Lady  Mallorings  of  this  life 
concerning  the  moral  welfare  of  their  humbler  neigh- 
bors are  inclined  to  march  in  front  of  events.  The 
behavior  in  Tryst's  cottage  was  more  correct  than  it 
would  have  been  in  nine  out  of  ten  middle  or  upper 
class  demesnes  under  similar  conditions.  Between 
the  big  laborer  and  'that  woman,'  who,  since  the 
epileptic  fit,  had  again  come  into  residence,  there  had 
passed  nothing  whatever  that  might  not  have  been 
witnessed  by  Biddy  and  her  two  nurslings.  For  love 
is  an  emotion  singularly  dumb  and  undemonstracive 
in  those  who  live  the  life  of  the  fields;  passion  a  feeling 
severely  beneath  the  thumb  of  a  propriety  born  of  the 
age-long  absence  of  excitants,  opportunities,  and  the 
aesthetic  sense;  and  those  two  waited,  almost  as  a 
matter  of  course,  for  the  marriage  which  was  for- 
bidden them  in  this  parish.  The  most  they  did  was 
to  sit  and  look  at  one  another. 

On  the  day  of  which  Felix  had'  seen  the  dawn  at 
Hampstead,  Sir  Gerald's  agent  tapped  on  the  door 
of  Tryst's  cottage,  and  was  answered  by  Biddy,  just 
in  from  school  for  the  midday  meal. 

"Your  father  home,  my  dear?" 

"No,  sir;  Auntie's  in." 

"Ask  your  auntie  to  come  and  speak  to  me." 

The  mother-child  vanished  up  the  narrow  stairs, 

iSS 


THE  FREELANDS  189 

and  the  agent  sighed.  A  strong-built,  leathery- 
skinned  man  in  a  brown  suit  and  leggings,  with  a 
bristly  little  moustache  and  yellow  whites  to  his  eyes, 
he  did  not,  as  he  had  said  to  his  wife  that  morning, 
'like  the  job  a  little  bit.'  And  while  he  stood  there 
waiting,  Susie  and  Billy  emerged  from  the  kitchen 
and  came  to  stare  at  him.  The  agent  returned  that 
stare  till  a  voice  behind  him  said:  "Yes,  sir?" 

'That  woman'  was  certainly  no  great  shakes  to 
look  at:  a  fresh,  decent,  faithful  sort  of  body !  And 
he  said  gruffly :  "  Mornin',  miss.  Sorry  to  say  my  or- 
ders are  to  make  a  clearance  here.  I  suppose  Tryst 
didn't  think  we  should  act  on  it,  but  I'm  afraid  I've 
got  to  put  his  things  out,  you  know.  Now,  where 
are  you  all  going;  that's  the  point?" 

"I  shall  go  home,  I  suppose;  but  Tryst  and  the 
children — we  don't  know. " 

The  agent  tapped  his  leggings  with  a  riding-cane. 
"So  you've  been  expecting  it!"  he  said  with  relief. 
"That's  right."  And,  staring  down  at  the  mother- 
child,  he  added:  "Well, what  d'you  say,  my  dear;  you 
look  full  of  sense,  you  do !" 

Biddy  answered:  "I'll  go  and  tell  Mr.  Freeland, 
sir." 

"Ah!  You're  a  bright  maid.  He'll  know  where 
to  put  you  for  the  time  bein'.  Have  you  had  your 
dinner?" 

"No,  sir;  it's  just  ready. " 

"Better  have  it — better  have  it  first.  No  hurry. 
What've  you  got  in  the  pot  that  smells  so  good?" 

"Bubble  and  squeak,  sir." 


190  'nil-;    I'KKMLANDS 

"Bubble  and  squeak!  Ah!"  And  with  those 
words  the  agent  withdrew  (<>  where,  in  ;i  farm  wagon 
drawn  up  by  the  side  of  the  road,  three  men  were 
solemnly  pulling  ;il  (heir  pipes.  He  moved  away 
from  them  a  little,  for,  as  he  expressed  it  to  his  wife 
afterward:  "Look  bad,  you  know,  look  bad — any- 
body seeing  me !  Those  three  little  children — that's 
w  h  e  re  it  is  1  If  our  friends  at  the  Hall  had  to  do  1 1 1  <  < 
jobs  for  themselves,  there  wouldn't  be  any  to  do!" 

Presently,  from  his  dis<  reel  distance,  he  saw  the 
molherehild  going  down  ihe  road  toward  Tod's,  in 
her  blue  'pinny'  and  corn-colored  hair.  Nice  little 
thing  1  Pretty  little  thing,  too!  Pity,  great  pity  ! 
And  he  went  back  to  the  cottage.  On  his  way  a 
thought  struck  him  so  that  he  well-nigh  shivered. 
Suppose  the  little  tiling  brought  hack  that  Mrs.  I'Yec- 
land,  the  lady  who  always  went  about  in  blue,  with- 
out a  hat !  Phew  1  Mr.  Freeland — he  was  anot  lu  r 
sort;  a  bit  off,  certainly — harmless,  quite  harmless! 
But  that  lady !  And  he  entered  the  cottage.  The 
woman  was  washing  up;  seemed  a  sensible  body. 
When  the  two  kids  cleared  off  to  school  he  could  go 
to  work  and  get  it  over;  the  sooner  the  better,  before 
people  came  hanging  round.  A  job  of  this  kind 
sometimes  made  nasty  blood!  His  yellowish  eyes 
took  in  the  nature  of  the  task  before  him.  Funny 
jam-up  they  did  get  about  them,  to  be  sure !  Kvery 
Mr,  (-d  little  tiling  they'd  ever  bought,  and  more, 
too !  Have  to  take  precious  good  care  nothing  got 
smashed,  or  the  law  would  be  on  the  other  leg  1  And 

IK      aid  to  the  woman: 


THE  FREELANDS  191 

"Now,  miss,  can  I  begin?" 

11  I  can't  stop  you,  sir." 

1  No,'  he  thought,  'you  can't  stop  me,  and  I  blamed 
well  wish  you  could!'  But  he  said:  "Got  an  old 
waiMni  out  here.  Thought  I'd  save  him  damage  by 
weather  or  anything;  we'll  put  everything  in  that, 
and  run  it  up  into  the  empty  barn  at  Marrow  and 
leave  it.  And  there  they'll  be  for  him  when  he  wants 


'em.' 


The  woman  answered:  "You're  very  kind,  I'm 
sure." 

Perceiving  that  she  meant  no  irony,  the  agent  pro- 
duced a  sound  from  somewhere  deep  and  went  out  to 
summon  his  men. 

With  the  best  intentions,  however,  it  is  not  pos- 
sible, even  in  villages  so  scattered  that  they  cannot 
be  said  to  exist,  to  do  anything  without  every  one's 
knowing;  and  the  work  of  '  put  ting  out'  the  house- 
hold goods  of  the  Tryst  family,  and  placing  them 
within  the  wagon,  was  not  an  hour  in  progress  before 
the  road  in  front  of  the  cottage  contained  its  knot 
of  watchers.  Old  Gaunt  first,  alone — for  the  rogue- 
girl  had  gone  to  Mr.  Cuthcott's  and  Tom  Gaunt  was 
at  w«  >rk .  The  old  man  had  seen  evictions  in  his  time, 
and  looked  on  silently,  with  a  faint,  sardonic  grin. 
Four  children,  so  small  that  not  even  school  had 
any  use  for  them  as  yet,  soon  gathered  round  his  legs, 
followed  by  mothers  coming  to  retrieve  them,  and 
t  here  was  no  longer  silence.  Then  came  two  laborers, 
on  their  way  to  a  job,  a  stone-breaker,  and  two  more 
women.  It  was  through  this  little  throng  that  the 


192  THE  FREELANDS 

mother-child  and  Kirsteen  passed  into  the  fast-being- 
gutted  cottage. 

The  agent  was  standing  by  Tryst's  bed,  keeping 
up  a  stream  of  comment  to  two  of  his  men,  who  were 
taking  that  aged  bed  to  pieces.  It  was  his  habit  to 
feel  less  when  he  talked  more;  but  no  one  could  have 
fallen  into  a  more  perfect  taciturnity  than  he  when 
he  saw  Kirsteen  coming  up  those  narrow  stairs.  In 
so  small  a  space  as  this  room,  where  his  head  nearly 
touched  the  ceiling,  was  it  fair  to  be  confronted  by 
that  lady — he  put  it  to  his  wife  that  same  evening — 
"  Was  it  fair  ?  "  He  had  seen  a  mother  wild  duck  look 
like  that  when  you  took  away  its  young — snaky  fierce 
about  the  neck,  and  its  dark  eye !  He  had  seen  a 
mare,  going  to  bite,  look  not  half  so  vicious  !  "  There 
she  stood,  and — let  me  have  it? — not  a  bit!  Too 
much  the  lady  for  that,  you  know ! — Just  looked  at 
me,  and  said  very  quiet:  'Ah !  Mr.  Simmons,  and  are 
you  really  doing  this  ? '  and  put  her  hand  on  that  lit- 
tle girl  of  his.  '  Orders  are  orders,  ma'am ! '  What 
could  I  say?  'Ah !'  she  said,  'yes,  orders  are  orders, 
but  they  needn't  be  obeyed.'  'As  to  that,  ma'am,'  I 
said — mind  you,  she's  a  lady;  you  can't  help  feeling 
that — 'I'm  a  working  man,  the  same  as  Tryst  here; 
got  to  earn  my  living.'  'So  have  slave-drivers,  Mr. 
Simmons.'  'Every  profession,'  I  said,  'has  got  its 
dirty  jobs,  ma'am.  And  that's  a  fact.'  'And  will 
have,'  she  said,  'so  long  as  professional  men  consent 
to  do  the  dirty  work  of  their  employers.'  'And  where 
should  I  be,  I  should  like  to  know,'  I  said,  'if  I  went 
on  that  lay?  I've  got  to  take  the  rough  with  the 


THE  FREELANDS  193 

smooth.'  'Well,'  she  said,  'Mr.  Freeland  and  I  will 
take  Tryst  and  the  little  ones  in  at  present.'  Good- 
hearted  people,  do  a  lot  for  the  laborers,  in  their  way. 
All  the  same,  she's  a  bit  of  a  vixen.  Picture  of  a 
woman,  too,  standin'  there;  shows  blood,  mind  you ! 
Once  said,  all  over — no  nagging.  She  took  the  little 
girl  off  with  her.  And  pretty  small  I  felt,  knowing 
I'd  got  to  finish  that  job,  and  the  folk  outside  gettin' 
nastier  all  the  time — not  sayin'  much,  of  course,  but 
lookin'  a  lot !"  The  agent  paused  in  his  recital  and 
gazed  fixedly  at  a  bluebottle  crawling  up  the  window- 
pane.  Stretching  out  his  thumb  and  finger,  he 
nipped  it  suddenly  and  threw  it  in  the  grate.  "Blest 
if  that  fellow  himself  didn't  turn  up  just  as  I  was 
finishing.  I  was  sorry  for  the  man,  you  know. 
There  was  his  home  turned  out-o'-doors.  Big  man, 
too  !  '  You  blanky-blank !'  he  says;  'if  I'd  been  here 
you  shouldn't  ha'  done  this  !'  Thought  he  was  goin' 
to  hit  me.  '  Come,  Tryst ! '  I  said, '  it's  not  my  doing, 
you  know!'  'Ah!'  he  said,  'I  know  that;  and  it'll 
be  blanky  well  the  worse  for  them!'  Rough  tongue; 
no  class  of  man  at  all,  he  is !  '  Yes,'  he  said, '  let  'em 
look  out ;  I'll  be  even  with  'em  yet ! '  '  None  o'  that ! ' 
I  told  him;  'you  know  which  side  the  law's  buttered. 
I'm  making  it  easy  for  you,  too,  keeping  your  things 
in  the  wagon,  ready  to  shift  any  time ! '  He  gave  me 
a  look — he's  got  very  queer  eyes,  swimmin',  sad  sort 
of  eyes,  like  a  man  in  liquor — and  he  said:  'I've  been 
here  twenty  years,'  he  said.  'My  wife  died  here.' 
And  all  of  a  sudden  he  went  as  dumb  as  a  fish.  Never 
let  his  eyes  off  us,  though,  while  we  finished  up  the 


194  THE  FREELANDS 

last  of  it;  made  me  feel  funny,  seein'  him  glowering 
like  that  all  the  time.  He'll  savage  something  over 
this,  you  mark  my  words ! "  Again  the  agent  paused, 
and  remained  as  though  transfixed,  holding  that  face 
of  his,  whose  yellow  had  run  into  the  whites  of  the 
eyes,  as  still  as  wood.  "  He's  got  some  feeling  for  the 
place,  I  suppose,"  he  said  suddenly;  "or  maybe 
they've  put  it  into  him  about  his  rights;  there's 
plenty  of  'em  like  that.  Well,  anyhow,  nobody  likes 
his  private  affairs  turned  inside  out  for  every  one  to 
gape  at.  I  wouldn't  myself. "  And  with  that  deeply 
felt  remark  the  agent  put  out  his  leathery-yellow 
thumb  and  finger  and  nipped  a  second  bluebottle.  .  .  . 

While  the  agent  was  thus  recounting  to  his  wife  the 
day's  doings,  the  evicted  Tryst  sat  on  the  end  of  his 
bed  in  a  ground-floor  room  of  Tod's  cottage.  He 
had  taken  off  his  heavy  boots,  and  his  feet,  in  their 
thick,  soiled  socks,  were  thrust  into  a  pair  of  Tod's 
carpet  slippers.  He  sat  without  moving,  precisely 
as  if  some  one  had  struck  him  a  blow  in  the  centre  of 
the  forehead,  and  over  and  over  again  he  turned  the 
heavy  thought:  ' They've  turned  me  out  o'  there — I 
done  nothing,  and  they  turned  me  out  o'  there ! 
Blast  them — they  turned  me  out  o'  there!'  .  .  . 

In  the  orchard  Tod  sat  with  a  grave  and  puzzled 
face,  surrounded  by  the  three  little  Trysts.  And  at 
the  wicket  gate  Kirsteen,  awaiting  the  arrival  of 
Derek  and  Sheila — summoned  home  by  telegram- 
stood  in  the  evening  glow,  her  blue-clad  figure  still  as 
that  of  any  worshipper  at  the  muezzin-call. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

"A  FIRE,  causing  the  destruction  of  several  ricks  and  an 
empty  cowshed,  occurred  in  the  early  morning  of  Thursday 
on  the  home  farm  of  Sir  Gerald  Malloring's  estate  in  Wor- 
cestershire. Grave  suspicions  of  arson  are  entertained,  but 
up  to  the  present  no  arrest  has  been  made.  The  authorities 
are  in  doubt  whether  the  occurrence  has  any  relation  with 
recent  similar  outbreaks  in  the  eastern  counties." 

So  Stanley  read  at  breakfast,  in  his  favorite  paper; 
and  the  little  leader  thereon: 

"The  outbreak  of  fire  on  Sir  Gerald  Malloring's  Worcester- 
shire property  may  or  may  not  have  any  significance  as  a 
symptom  of  agrarian  unrest.  We  shall  watch  the  upshot 
with  some  anxiety.  Certain  it  is  that  unless  the  authorities 
are  prepared  to  deal  sharply  with  arson,  or  other  cases  of 
deliberate  damage  to  the  property  of  landlords,  we  may  bid 
good-by  to  any  hope  of  ameliorating  the  lot  of  the  laborer  " 

— and  so  on. 

If  Stanley  had  risen  and  paced  the  room  there 
would  have  been  a  good  deal  to  be  said  for  him;  for, 
though  he  did  not  know  as  much  as  Felix  of  the  na- 
ture and  sentiments  of  Tod's  children,  he  knew 
enough  to  make  any  but  an  Englishman  uneasy. 
The  fact  that  he  went  on  eating  ham,  and  said  to 
Clara,  "Half  a  cup!"  was  proof  positive  of  that 
mysterious  quality  called  phlegm  which  had  long 


196  THE  FREELANDS 

enabled  his  country  to  enjoy  the  peace  of  a  weedy 
duck-pond. 

Stanley,  a  man  of  some  intelligence — witness  his 
grasp  of  the  secret  of  successful  plough-making  (none 
for  the  home  market!) — had  often  considered  this 
important  proposition  of  phlegm.  People  said  Eng- 
land was  becoming  degenerate  and  hysterical,  grow- 
ing soft,  and  nervous,  and  towny,  and  all  the  rest  of 
it.  In  his  view  there  was  a  good  deal  of  bosh  about 
that!  "Look,"  he  would  say,  "at  the  weight  that 
chauffeurs  put  on !  Look  at  the  House  of  Commons, 
and  the  size  of  the  upper  classes ! "  If  there  were 
growing  up  little  shrill  types  of  working  men  and 
Socialists,  and  new  women,  and  half-penny  papers, 
and  a  rather  larger  crop  of  professors  and  long-haired 
chaps — all  the  better  for  the  rest  of  the  country! 
The  flesh  all  these  skimpy  ones  had  lost,  solid  people 
had  put  on.  The  country  might  be  suffering  a  bit 
from  officialism,  and  the  tendency  of  modern  thought, 
but  the  breed  was  not  changing.  John  Bull  was 
there  all  right  under  his  moustache.  Take  it  off  and 
clap  on  little  side-whiskers,  and  you  had  as  many 
Bulls  as  you  liked,  any  day.  There  would  be  no 
social  upheaval  so  long  as  the  climate  was  what  it 
was !  And  with  this  simple  formula,  and  a  kind  of 
very  deep-down  throaty  chuckle,  he  would  pass  to  a 
subject  of  more  immediate  importance.  There  was 
something,  indeed,  rather  masterly  in  his  grasp  of  the 
fact  that  rain  might  be  trusted  to  put  out  any  fire- 
give  it  time.  And  he  kept  a  special  vessel  in  a  special 
corner  which  recorded  for  him  faithfully  the  number 


THE  FREELANDS  197 

of  inches  that  fell;  and  now  and  again  he  wrote  to  his 
paper  to  say  that  there  were  more  inches  in  his  vessel 
than  there  had  been  "for  thirty  years."  His  con- 
viction that  the  country  was  in  a  bad  way  was  nothing 
but  a  skin  affection,  causing  him  local  irritation  rather 
than  affecting  the  deeper  organs  of  his  substantial 
body. 

He  did  not  readily  confide  in  Clara  concerning  his 
own  family,  having  in  a  marked  degree  the  truly 
domestic  quality  of  thinking  it  superior  to  his  wife's. 
She  had  been  a  Tomson,  not  one  of  the  Tomsons, 
and  it  was  quite  a  question  whether  he  or  she  were 
trying  to  forget  that  fact  the  faster.  But  he  did  say 
to  her  as  he  was  getting  into  the  car: 

"  It's  just  possible  I  might  go  round  by  Tod's  on  my 
way  home.  I  want  a  run. " 

She  answered:  "Be  careful  what  you  say"  to  that 
woman.  I  don't  want  her  here  by  any  chance.  The 
young  ones  were  quite  bad  enough. " 

And  when  he  had  put  in  his  day  at  the  works  he  did 
turn  the  nose  of  his  car  toward  Tod's.  Travelling 
along  grass-bordered  roads,  the  beauty  of  this  Eng- 
land struck  his  not  too  sensitive  spirit  and  made  him 
almost  gasp.  It  was  that  moment  of  the  year  when 
the  countryside  seems  to  faint  from  its  own  loveli- 
ness, from  the  intoxication  of  its  scents  and  sounds. 
Creamy-white  may,  splashed  here  and  there  with 
crimson,  flooded  the  hedges  in  breaking  waves  of 
flower-foam;  the  fields  were  all  buttercup  glory;  every 
tree  had  its  cuckoo,  calling;  every  bush  its  blackbird 
or  thrush  in  full  even-song.  Swallows  were  flying 


198  THE  FREELANDS 

rather  low,  and  the  sky,  whose  moods  they  watch, 
had  the  slumberous,  surcharged  beauty  of  a  long, 
fine  day,  with  showers  not  far  away.  Some  orchards 
were  still  in  blossom,  and  the  great  wild  bees,  hunt- 
ing over  flowers  and  grasses  warm  to  their  touch, 
kept  the  air  deeply  murmurous.  Movement,  light, 
color,  song,  scent,  the  warm  air,  and  the  fluttering 
leaves  were  confused,  till  one  had  almost  become  the 
other. 

And  Stanley  thought,  for  he  was  not  rhapsodic 
'Wonderful  pretty  country  !    The  way  everything's 
looked  after — you  never  see  it  abroad  ! ' 

But  the  car,  a  creature  with  little  patience  for 
natural  beauty,  had  brought  him  to  the  crossroads 
and  stood,  panting  slightly,  under  the  cliff-bank 
whereon  grew  Tod's  cottage,  so  loaded  now  with  Hlac, 
wistaria,  and  roses  that  from  the  road  nothing  but  a 
peak  or  two  of  the  thatched  roof  could  be  seen. 

Stanley  was  distinctly  nervous.  It  was  not  a  weak- 
ness his  face  and  figure  were  very  capable  of  show- 
ing, but  he  felt  that  dryness  of  mouth  and  quiver- 
ing of  chest  which  precede  adventures  of  the  soul. 
Advancing  up  the  steps  and  pebbled  path,  which 
Clara  had  trodden  once,  just  nineteen  years  ago,  and 
he  himself  but  three  times  as  yet  in  all,  he  cleared  his 
throat  and  said  to  himself:  'Easy,  old  man !  What 
is  it,  after  all?  She  won't  bite!'  And  in  the  very 
doorway  he  came  upon  her. 

What  there  was  about  this  woman  to  produce  in  a 
man  of  common  sense  such  peculiar  sensations,  he  no 
more  knew  after  seeing  her  than  before.  Felix,  on 


THE  FREELANDS  199 

returning  from  his  visit,  had  said,  "  She's  like  a  Song 
of  the  Hebrides  sung  in  the  middle  of  a  programme 
of  English  ballads."  The  remark,  as  any  literary 
man's  might,  had  conveyed  nothing  to  Stanley,  and 
that  in  a  far-fetched  way.  Still,  when  she  said: 
"  Will  you  come  in  ?  "  he  felt  heavier  and  thicker  than 
he  had  ever  remembered  feeling;  as  a  glass  of  stout 
might  feel  coming  across  a  glass  of  claret.  It  was,  per- 
haps, the  gaze  of  her  eyes,  whose  color  he  could  not 
determine,  under  eyebrows  that  waved  in  the  middle 
and  twitched  faintly,  or  a  dress  that  was  blue,  with 
the  queerest  effect  of  another  color  at  the  back  of  it, 
or  perhaps  the  feeling  of  a  torrent  flowing  there  under 
a  coat  of  ice,  that  might  give  way  in  little  holes,  so 
that  your  leg  went  in  but  not  the  whole  of  you. 
Something,  anyway,  made  him  feel  both  small  and 
heavy — that  awkward  combination  for  a  man  accus- 
tomed to  associate  himself  with  cheerful  but  solid 
dignity.  In  seating  himself  by  request  at  a  table,  in 
what  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  kitchen,  he  experienced  a 
singular  sensation  in  the  legs,  and  heard  her  say,  as  it 
might  be  to  the  air: 

"Biddy,  dear,  take  Susie  and  Billy  out." 
And  thereupon  a  little  girl  with  a  sad  and  motherly 
face  came  crawling  out  from  underneath  the  table, 
and  dropped  him  a  little  courtesy.  Then  another 
still  smaller  girl  came  out,  and  a  very  small  boy,  star- 
ing with  all  his  eyes. 

All  these  things  were  against  Stanley,  and  he  felt 
that  if  he  did  not  make  it  quite  clear  that  he  was  there 
he  would  soon  not  know  where  he  was. 


200  THE  FREELANDS 

"I  came,"  he  said,  "to  talk  about  this  business  up 
at  Malloring's. "  And,  encouraged  by  having  begun, 
he  added :  "  Whose  kids  were  those  ?  " 

A  level  voice  with  a  faint  lisp  answered  him: 

"They  belong  to  a  man  called  Tryst;  he  was  turned 
out  of  his  cottage  on  Wednesday  because  his  dead 
wife's  sister  was  staying  with  him,  so  we've  taken 
them  in.  Did  you  notice  the  look  on  the  face  of  the 
eldest?" 

Stanley  nodded.  In  truth,  he  had  noticed  some- 
thing, though  what  he  could  not  have  said. 

"At  nine  years  old  she  has  to  do  the  housework 
and  be  a  mother  to  the  other  two,  besides  going  to 
school.  This  is  all  because  Lady  Malloring  has  con- 
scientious scruples  a*bout  marriage  with  a  deceased 
wife's  sister. " 

'Certainly' — thought  Stanley — 'that  does  sound 
a  bit  thick !'  And  he  asked: 

"Is  the  woman  here,  too?" 

"No,  she's  gone  home  for  the  present. " 

He  felt  relief. 

"I  suppose  Malloring's  point  is, "  he  said,  "whether 
or  not  you're  to  do  what  you  like  with  your  own 
property.  For  instance,  if  you  had  let  this  cottage 
to  some  one  you  thought  was  harming  the  neighbor- 
hood, wouldn't  you  terminate  his  tenancy?" 

She  answered,  still  in  that  level  voice: 

"Her  action  is  cowardly,  narrow,  and  tyrannical, 
and  no  amount  of  sophistry  will  make  me  think  differ- 
ently." 

Stanley  felt  precisely  as  if  one  of  his  feet  had  gone 


THE  FREELANDS  20 1 

through  the  ice  into  water  so  cold  that  it  seemed  burn- 
ing hot !  Sophistry !  In  a  plain  man  like  himself ! 
He  had  always  connected  the  word  with  Felix.  He 
looked  at  her,  realizing  suddenly  that  the  association 
of  his  brother's  family  with  the  outrage  on  Mal- 
loring's  estate  was  probably  even  nearer  than  he  had 
feared. 

"Look  here,  Kirs  teen!"  he  said,  uttering  the  un- 
likely name  with  resolution,  for,  after  all,  she  was  his 
sister-in-law:  "Did  this  fellow  set  fire  to  Malloring's 
ricks?" 

He  was  aware  of  a  queer  flash,  a  quiver,  a  some- 
thing all  over  her  face,  which  passed  at  once  back  to 
its  intent  gravity. 

"We  have  no  reason  to  suppose  so.  But  tyranny 
produces  revenge,  as  you  know. " 

Stanley  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "It's  not  my 
business  to  go  into  the  rights  and  wrongs  of  what's 
been  done.  But,  as  a  man  of  the  world  and  a  rela- 
tive, I  do  ask  you  to  look  after  your  youngsters  and 
see  they  don't  get  into  a  mess.  They're  an  inflam- 
mable young  couple — young  blood,  you  know !" 

Having  made  this  speech,  Stanley  looked  down, 
with  a  feeling  that  it  would  give  her  more  chance. 

"You  are  very  kind,"  he  heard  her  saying  in  that 
quiet,  faintly  lisping  voice;  "but  there  are  certain 
principles  involved. " 

And,  suddenly,  his  curious  fear  of  this  woman  took 
shape.  Principles !  He  had  unconsciously  been  wait- 
ing for  that  word,  than  which  none  was  more  like 
a  red  rag  to  him. 


202  THE  FREELANDS 

"What  principles  can  possibly  be  involved  in  going 
against  the  law? " 

"And  where  the  law  is  unjust ?" 

Stanley  was  startled,  but  he  said:  "Remember  that 
your  principles,  as  you  call  them,  may  hurt  other 
people  besides  yourself;  Tod  and  your  children  most 
of  all.  How  is  the  law  unjust,  may  I  ask  ?  " 

She 'had  been  sitting  at  the  table  opposite,  but  she 
got  up  now  and  went  to  the  hearth.  For  a  woman  of 
forty-two — as  he  supposed  she  would  be — she  was 
extraordinarily  lithe,  and  her  eyes,  fixed  on  him  from 
under  those  twitching,  wavy  brows,  had  a  curious 
glow  in  their  darkness.  The  few  silver  threads  in  the 
mass  of  her  over-fine  black  hair  seemed  to  give  it  extra 
vitality.  The  whole  of  her  had  a  sort  of  intensity 
that  made  him  profoundly  uncomfortable.  And  he 
thought  suddenly:  " Poor  old  Tod!  Fancy  having 
to  go  to  bed  with  that  woman  ! ' 

Without  raising  her  voice,  she  began  answering  his 
question. 

"These  poor  people  have  no  means  of  setting  law 
in  motion,  no  means  of  choosing  where  and  how  they 
will  live,  no  means  of  doing  anything  except  just  what 
they  are  told;  the  Mallorings  have  the  means  to  set 
the  law  in  motion,  to  choose  where  and  how  to  live, 
and  to  dictate  to  others.  That  is  why  the  law  is  un- 
just. With  every  independent  pound  a  year,  this 
equal  law  of  yours — varies!" 

"  Phew ! "  said  Stanley.     "  That's  a  proposition ! " 

"  I  give  you  a  simple  case.  If  I  had  chosen  not  to 
marry  Tod  but  to  live  with  him  in  free  love,  we  could 


THE  FREELANDS  203 

have  done  it  without  inconvenience.  We  have  some 
independent  income;  we  could  have  afforded  to  dis- 
regard what  people  thought  or  did.  We  could  have 
bought  (as  we  did  buy)  our  piece  of  land  and  our  cot- 
tage, out  of  which  we  could  not  have  been  turned. 
Since  we  don't  care  for  society,  it  would  have  made 
absolutely  no  difference  to  our  present  position.  But 
Tryst,  who  does  not  even  want  to  defy  the  law— 
what  happens  to  him?  What  happens  to  hundreds 
of  laborers  all  over  the  country  who  venture  to  differ 
in  politics,  religion,  or  morals  from  those  who  own 
them?" 

'By  George  !'  thought  Stanley,  'it's  true,  in  a  way; 
I  never  looked  at  it  quite  like  that. '  But  the  feeling 
that  he  had  come  to  persuade  her  to  be  reasonable, 
and  the  deeply  rooted  Englishry  of  him,  conspired  to 
make  him  say : 

"That's  all  very  well;  but,  you  see,  it's  only  a 
necessary  incident  of  property-holding.  You  can't 
interfere  with  plain  rights. " 

"You  mean — an  evil  inherent  in  property-hold- 
ing?" 

"If  you  like;  I  don't  split  words.  The  lesser  of 
two  evils.  What's  your  remedy?  You  don't  want 
to  abolish  property;  you've  confessed  that  property 
gives  you  your  independence!" 

Again  that  curious  quiver  and  flash ! 

"Yes;  but  if  people  haven't  decency  enough  to  see 
for  themselves  how  the  law  favors  their  independence, 
they  must  be  shown  that  it  doesn't  pay  to  do  to  others 
as  they  would  hate  to  be  done  by, " 


204  THE  FREELANDS 

"And  you  wouldn't  try  reasoning ?" 

"They  are  not  amenable  to  reason." 

Stanley  took  up  his  hat. 

"Well,  I  think  some  of  us  are.  I  see  your  point; 
but,  you  know,  violence  never  did  any  good;  it  isn't 
—isn't  English. " 

She  did  not  answer.  And,  nonplussed  thereby, 
he  added  lamely:  "I  should  have  liked  to  have  seen 
Tod  and  your  youngsters.  Remember  me  to  them. 
Clara  sent  her  regards" ;  and,  looking  round  the  room 
in  a  rather  lost  way,  he  held  out  his  hand. 

He  had  an  impression  of  something  warm  and  dry 
put  into  it,  with  even  a  little  pressure. 

Back  in  the  car,  he  said  to  his  chauffeur,  "  Go  home 
the  other  way,  Batter,  past  the  church. " 

The  vision  of  that  kitchen,  with  its  brick  floor,  its 
black  oak  beams,  bright  copper  pans,  the  flowers  on 
the  window-sill,  the  great,  open  hearth,  and  the 
figure  of  that  woman  in  her  blue  dress  standing  before 
it,  with  her  foot  poised  on  a  log,  clung  to  his  mind's 
eye  with  curious  fidelity.  And  those  three  kids, 
popping  out  like  that — proof  that  the  whole  thing  was 
not  a  rather  bad  dream !  l  Queer  business ! '  he 
thought;  'bad  business!  That  woman?s  uncom- 
monly all  there,  though.  Lot  in  what  she  said,  too. 
Where  the  deuce  sh6uld  we  all  be  if  there  were  many 
like  her ! '  And  suddenly  he  noticed,  in  a  field  to  the 
right,  a  number  of  men  coming  along  the  hedge  to- 
ward the  road — evidently  laborers.  What  were  they 
doing?  He  stopped  the  car.  There  were  fifteen  or 
twenty  of  them,  and  back  in  the  field  he  could  see  a 


THE  FREELANDS  205 

girl's  red  blouse,  where  a  little  group  of  four  still 
lingered.  'By  George !'  he  thought,  '  those  must  be 
the  young  Tods  going  it ! '  And,  curious  to  see  what 
it  might  mean,  Stanley  fixed  his  attention  on  the 
gate  through  which  the  men  were  bound  to  come. 
First  emerged  a  fellow  in  corduroys  tied  below  the 
knee,  with  long  brown  moustaches  decorating  a  face 
that,  for  all  its  haggardness,  had  a  jovial  look.  Next 
came  a  sturdy  little  red-faced,  bow-legged  man  in 
shirt-sleeves  rolled  up,  walking  alongside  a  big,  dark 
fellow  with  a  cap  pushed  up  on  his  head,  who  had  evi- 
dently just  made  a  joke.  Then  came  two  old  men, 
one  of  whom  was  limping,  and  three  striplings. 
Another  big  man  came  along  next,  in  a  little  clear- 
ance, as  it  were,  between  main  groups.  He  walked 
heavily,  and  looked  up  lowering  at  the  car.  The 
fellow's  eyes  were  queer,  and  threatening,  and  sad — 
giving  Stanley  a  feeling  of  discomfort.  Then  came  a 
short,  square  man  with  an  impudent,  loquacious  face 
and  a  bit  of  swagger  in  his  walk.  He,  too,  looked  up 
at  Stanley  and  made  some  remark  which  caused  two 
thin-faced  fellows  with  him  to  grin  sheepishly.  A 
spare  old  man,  limping  heavily,  with  a  yellow  face 
and  drooping  gray  moustaches,  walked  next,  along- 
side a  warped,  bent  fellow,  with  yellowish  hair  all 
over  his  face,  whose  expression  struck  Stanley  as 
half -idiotic.  Then  two  more  striplings  of  seventeen 
or  so,  whittling  at  bits  of  sticks;  an  active,  clean- 
shorn  chap  with  drawn-in  cheeks;  and,  last  of  all,  a 
small  man  by  himself,  without  a  cap  on  a  round 
head  covered  with  thin,  light  hair,  moving  at  a 


206  THE  FREELANDS 

'dot-here,  dot- there'  walk,  as  though  he  had  beasts 
to  drive. 

Stanley  noted  that  all — save  the  big  man  with  the 
threatening,  sad  eyes,  the  old,  yellow-faced  man  with 
a  limp,  and  the  little  man  who  came  out  last,  lost  in 
his  imaginary  beasts — looked  at  the  car  furtively  as 
they  went  their  ways.  And  Stanley  thought:  ' Eng- 
lish peasant !  Poor  devil !  Who  is  he  ?  What  is 
he  ?  Who'd  miss  him  if  he  did  die  out  ?  What's  the 
use  of  all  this  fuss  about  him?  He's  done  for! 
Glad  I've  nothing  to  do  with  him  at  Becket,  anyway ! 
"Back  to  the  land!"  "Independent  peasantry!" 
Not  much !  Shan't  say  that  to  Clara,  though;  knock 
the  bottom  out  of  her  week-ends ! '  And  to  his 
chauffeur  he  muttered : 

"Get  on,  Batter!" 

So,  through  the  peace  of  that  country,  all  laid 
down  in  grass,  through  the  dignity  and  loveliness  of 
trees  and  meadows,  this  May  evening,  with  the  birds 
singing  under  a  sky  surcharged  with  warmth  and 
color,  he  sped  home  to  dinner. 


CHAPTER 

BUT  next  morning,  turning  on  his  back  as  it  came 
dawn,  Stanley  thought,  with  the  curious  intensity 
which  in  those  small  hours  so  soon  becomes  fear: 
'By  Jove!  I  don't  trust  that  woman  a  yard!  I 
shall  wire  for  Felix ! '  And  the  longer  he  lay  on  his 
back,  the  more  the  conviction  bored  a  hole  in  him. 
There  was  a  kind  of  fever  in  the  air  nowadays,  that 
women  seemed  to  catch,  as  children  caught  the 
measles.  What  did  it  all  mean?  England  used  to 
be  a  place  to  live  in.  One  would  have  thought  an  old 
country  like  this  would  have  got  through  its  infantile 
diseases  !  Hysteria !  No  one  gave  in  to  that.  Still, 
one  must  look  out !  Arson  was  about  the  limit ! 
And  Stanley  had  a  vision,  suddenly,  of  his  plough- 
works  in  flames.  Why  not  ?  The  ploughs  were  not 
for  the  English  market.  Who  knew  whether  these 
laboring  fellows  mightn't  take  that  as  a  grievance, 
if  trouble  began  to  spread?  This  somewhat  far- 
fetched notion,  having  started  to  burrow,  threw  up  a 
really  horrid  mole-hill  on  Stanley.  And  it  was  only 
the  habit,  in  the  human  mind,  of  saying  suddenly  to 
fears:  Stop  !  I'm  tired  of  you !  that  sent  him  to  sleep 
about  half  past  four. 

He  did  not,  however,  neglect  to  wire  to  Felix: 

"If  at  all  possible,  come  down  again  at  once;  awkward 
business  at  Joynelds." 

',07 


208  THE  FREELANDS 

Nor,  on  the  charitable  pretext  of  employing  two  old 
fellows  past  ordinary  work,  did  he  omit  to  treble  his 
night-watchman.  .  . 

On  Wednesday,  the  day  of  which  he  had  seen  the 
dawn  rise,  Felix  had  already  been  startled,  on  return- 
ing from  his  constitutional,  to  discover  his  niece  and 
nephew  in  the  act  of  departure.  All  the  explanation 
vouchsafed  had  been:  "Awfully  sorry,  Uncle  Felix; 
Mother's  wired  for  us."  Save  for  the  general  un- 
easiness which  attended  on  all  actions  of  that  woman, 
Felix  would  have  felt  relieved  at  their  going.  They 
had  disturbed  his  life,  slipped  between  him  and 
Nedda !  So  much  so  that  he  did  not  even  expect  her 
to  come  and  tell  him  why  they  had  gone,  nor  feel  in- 
clined to  ask  her.  So  little  breaks  the  fine  coherence 
of  really  tender  ties!  The  deeper  the  quality  of 
affection,  the  more  it  ''starts  and  puffs,'  and  from 
sheer  sensitive  feeling,  each  for  the  other,  spares 
attempt  to  get  back  into  touch ! 

His  paper — though  he  did  not  apply  to  it  the  word 
'  favorite/  having  that  proper  literary  feeling  toward 
all  newspapers,  that  they  took  him  in  rather  than  he 
them — gave  him  on  Friday  morning  precisely  the 
same  news,  of  the  rick-burning,  as  it  gave  to  Stanley 
at  breakfast  and  to  John  on  his  way  to  the  Home 
Office.  To  John,  less  in  the  know,  it  merely  brought 
a  knitting  of  the  brow  and  a  vague  attempt  to  recol- 
lect the  numbers  of  the  Worcestershire  constabulary. 
To  Felix  it  brought  a  feeling  of  sickness.  Men  whose 
work  in  life  demands  that  they  shall  daily  whip  their 
nerves,  run,  as  a  rule,  a  little  in  advance  of  everything. 


THE  FREELANDS  209 

And  goodness  knows  what  he  did  not  see  at  that  mo- 
ment. He  said  no  word  to  Nedda,  but  debated  with 
himself  and  Flora  what,  if  anything,  was  to  be  done. 
Flora,  whose  sense  of  humor  seldom  deserted  her,  held 
the  more  comfortable  theory  that  there  was  nothing 
to  be  done  as  yet.  Soon  enough  to  cry  when  milk  was 
spilled !  He  did  not  agree,  but,  unable  to  suggest  a 
better  course,  followed  her  advice.  On  Saturday, 
however,  receiving  Stanley's  wire,  he  had  much  diffi- 
culty in  not  saying  to  her,  "I  told  you  so!"  The 
question  that  agitated  him  now  was  whether  or  not 
to  take  Nedda  with  him.  Flora  said:  "Yes.  The 
child  will  be  the  best  restraining  influence,  if  there 
is  really  trouble  brewing!"  Some  feeling  fought 
against  this  in  Felix,  but,  suspecting  it  to  be  mere 
jealousy,  he  decided  to  take  her.  And,  to  the  girPs 
rather  puzzled  delight,  they  arrived  at  Becket  that 
day  in  time  for  dinner.  It  was  not  too  reassuring  to 
find  John  there,  too.  Stanley  had  also  wired  to  him. 
The  matter  must  indeed  be  serious ! 

The  usual  week-end  was  in  progress.  Clara  had 
made  one  of  her  greatest  efforts.  A  Bulgarian  had 
providentially  written  a  book  in  which  he  showed,  be- 
yond doubt,  that  persons  fed  on  brown  bread,  pota- 
toes, and  margarine,  gave  the  most  satisfactory  re- 
sults of  all.  It  was  a  discovery  of  the  first  value  as  a 
topic  for  her  dinner- table — seeming  to  solve  the  whole 
vexed  problem  of  the  laborers  almost  at  one  stroke. 
If  they  could  only  be  got  to  feed  themselves  on  this 
perfect  programme,  what  a  saving  of  the  situation ! 
On  those  three  edibles,  the  Bulgarian  said — and  he 


210  THE  FREELANDS 

had  been  well  translated — a  family  of  five  could  be 
maintained  at  full  efficiency  for  a  shilling  per  day. 
Why  !  that  would  leave  nearly  eight  shillings  a  week, 
in  many  cases  more,  for  rent,  firing,  insurance,  the 
man's  tobacco,  and  the  children's  boots.  There 
would  be  no  more  of  that  terrible  pinching  by  the 
mothers,  to  feed  the  husband  and  children  properly, 
of  which  one  heard  so  much;  no  more  lamentable 
deterioration  in  our  stock !  Brown  bread,  potatoes, 
margarine — quite  a  great  deal  could  be  provided  for 
seven  shillings  !  And  what  was  more  delicious  than  a 
well-baked  potato  with  margarine  of  good  quality? 
The  carbohydrates — or  was  it  Jiybocardrates — ah, 
yes !  the  kybohardr^tes — would  be  present  in  really 
sufficient  quantity!  Little  else  was  talked  of  all 
through  dinner  at  her  end  of  the  table.  Above  the 
flowers  which  Frances  Freeland  always  insisted  on 
arranging — and  very  charmingly — when  she  was 
there — over  bare  shoulders  and  white  shirt-fronts, 
those  words  bombed  and  rebombed.  Brown  bread, 
potatoes,  margarine,  carbohydrates,  calorific  !  They 
mingled  with  the  creaming  sizzle  of  champagne,  with 
the  soft  murmur  of  well-bred  deglutition.  White 
bosoms  heaved  and  eyebrows  rose  at  them.  And 
now  and  again  some  Bigwig  versed  in  science  mur- 
mured the  word  l  Fats. '  An  agricultural  population 
fed  to  the  point  of  efficiency  without  disturbance  of 
the  existing  state  of  things !  Eureka !  If  only  into 
the  bargain  they  could  be  induced  to  bake  their  own 
brown  bread  and  cook  their  potatoes  well !  Faces 
flushed,  eyes  brightened,  and  teeth  shone.  It  was 


THE  FREELANDS  211 

the  best,  the  most  stimulating,  dinner  ever  swallowed 
in  that  room.  Nor  was  it  until  each  male  guest  had 
eaten,  drunk,  and  talked  himself  into  torpor  suitable 
to  the  company  of  his  wife,  that  the  three  brothers 
could  sit  in  the  smoking-room  together,  undis- 
turbed. 

When  Stanley  had  described  his  interview  with 
'  that  woman, '  his  glimpse  of  the  red  blouse,  and  the 
laborers'  meeting,  there  was  a  silence  before  John 
said: 

"It  might  be  as  well  if  Tod  would  send  his  two 
youngsters  abroad  for  a  bit. " 

Felix  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  think  he  would,  and  I  don't  think  they'd 
go.  But  we  might  try  to  get  those  two  to  see  that 
anything  the  poor  devils  of  laborers  do  is  bound  to 
recoil  on  themselves,  fourfold.  I  suppose,"  he 
added,  with  sudden  malice,  "a  laborers'  rising  would 
have  no  chance  ?" 

Neither  John  nor  Stanley  winced. 

"Rising?     Why  should  they  rise?" 

"They  did  in  '32." 

"  In  '3  2  ! "  repeated  John.  "  Agriculture  had  its  im- 
portance then.  Now  it  has  none.  Besides,  they've 
no  cohesion,  no  power,  like  the  miners  or  railway 
men.  Rising?  No  chance,  no  earthly!  Weight 
of  metal's  dead  against  it. " 

Felix  smiled. 

"  Money  and  guns  !  Guns  and  money !  Confess 
with  me,  brethren,  that  we're  glad  of  metal. " 

John  stared  and  Stanley  drank  off  his  whiskey  and 


212  THE  FREELANDS 

potash.  Felix  really  was  a  bit '  too  thick '  sometimes. 
Then  Stanley  said: 

"Wonder  what  Tod  thinks  of  it  all.  Will  you  go 
over,  Felix,  and  advise  that  our  young  friends  be 
more  considerate  to  these  poor  beggars?'7 

Felix  nodded.  And  with  'Good  night,  old  man' 
all  round,  and  no  shaking  of  the  hands,  the  three 
brothers  dispersed. 

But  behind  Felix,  as  he  opened  his  bedroom  door,  a 
voice  whispered: 

"Dad!"  And  there,  in  the  doorway  of  the  ad- 
joining room,  was  Nedda  in  her  dressing-gown. 

"Do  come  in  for  a  minute.  I've  been  waiting  up. 
You  are  late." 

Felix  followed  her  into  her  room.  The  pleasure 
he  would  once  have  had  in  this  midnight  conspiracy 
was  superseded  now,  and  he  stood  blinking  at  her 
gravely.  In  that  blue  gown,  with  her  dark  hair 
falling  on  its  lace  collar  and  her  face  so  round  and 
childish,  she  seemed  more  than  ever  to  have  de- 
frauded him.  Hooking  her  arm  in  his,  she  drew  him 
to  the  window;  and  Felix  thought:  'She  just  wants 
to  talk  to  me  about  Derek.  Dog  in  the  manger  that 
I  am !  Here  goes  to  be  decent ! '  So  he  said : 

"Well,  my  dear?" 

Nedda  pressed  his  hand  with  a  little  coaxing 
squeeze. 

"Daddy,  darling,  I  do  love  you !" 

And,  though  Felix  knew  that  she  had  grasped  what 
he  was  feeling,  a  sort  of  warmth  spread  in  him.  She 
had  begun  counting  his  fingers  with  one  of  her  own, 


THE  FREELANDS  213 

sitting  close  beside  him.  The  warmth  in  Felix 
deepened,  but  he  thought:  'She  must  want  a  good 
deal  out  of  me ! '  Then  she  began : 

"Why  did  we  come  down  again?  I  know  there's 
something  wrong !  It's  hard  not  to  know,  when 
you're  anxious. "  And  she  sighed.  That  little  sigh 
affected  Felix. 

"I'd  always  rather  know  the  truth,  Dad.  Aunt 
Clara  said  something  about  a  fire  at  the  Mallorings '. " 

Felix  stole  a  look  at  her.  Yes !  There  was  a  lot 
in  this  child  of  his !  Depth,  warmth,  and  strength 
to  hold  to  things.  No  use  to  treat  her  as  a  child ! 
And  he  answered: 

"My  dear,  there's  really  nothing  beyond  what 
you  know — our  young  man  and  Sheila  are  hotheads, 
and  things  over  there  are  working  up  a  bit.  We 
must  try  and.  smooth  them  down." 

"Dad,  ought  I  to  back  him  whatever  he  does?" 

What  a  question !  The  more  so  that  one  cannot 
answer  superficially  the  questions  of  those  whom  one 
loves. 

"  Ah  ! "  he  said  at  last.  "  I  don't  know  yet.  Some 
things  it's  not  your  duty  to  do;  that's  certain.  It 
can't  be  right  to  do  things  simply  because  he  does 
them — that's  not  real — however  fond  one  is." 

"No;  I  feel  that.  Only,  it's  so  hard  to  know  what 
I  do  really  think — there's  always  such  a  lot  trying 
to  make  one  feel  that  only  what's  nice  and  cosey  is 
right!" 

And  Felix  thought:  'I've  been  brought  up  to  be- 
lieve that  only  Russian  girls  care  for  truth.  It  seems 


214  THE  FREELANDS 

I  was  wrong.  The  saints  forbid  I  should  be  a 
stumbling-block  to  my  own  daughter  searching  for 
it!  And  yet — where's  it  all  leading?  Is  this  the 
same  child  that  told  me  only  the  other  night  she 
wanted  to  know  everything  ?  She's  a  woman  now  ! 
So  much  for  love  ! '  And  he  said : 

"Let's  go  forward  quietly,  without  expecting  too 
much  of  ourselves. " 

"Yes,  Dad;  only  I  distrust  myself  so." 

"No  one  ever  got  near  the  truth  who  didn't. " 

"  Can  we  go  over  to  Joyfields  to-morrow  ?  I  don't 
think  I  could  bear  a  whole  day  of  Bigwigs  and  eating, 
with  this  hanging 

"Poor  Bigwigs  !  All  right!  We'll  go.  And  now, 
bed;  and  think  of  nothing!" 

Her  whisper  tickled  his  ear: 

"You  are  a  darling  to  me,  Dad !" 

He  went  out  comforted. 

And  for  some  time  after  she  had  forgotten  every- 
thing he  leaned  out  of  his  window,  smoking  cigarettes, 
and  trying  to  see  the  body  and  soul  of  night.  How 
quiet  she  was — night,  with  her  mystery,  bereft  of 
moon,  in  whose  darkness  seemed  to  vibrate  still  the 
song  of  the  cuckoos  that  had  been  calling  so  all  day ! 
And  whisperings  of  leaves  communed  with  Felix. 


217 


CHAPTER   XXI 

WHAT  Tod  thought  of  all  this  was,  perhaps,  as 
much  of  an  enigma  to  Tod  as  to  his  three  brothers, 
and  never  more  so  than  on  that  Sunday  morning 
when  two  police  constables  appeared  at  his  door  with 
a  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  Tryst.  After  regarding 
them  fixedly  for  full  thirty  seconds,  he  said,  "  Wait !" 
and  left  them  in  the  doorway. 

Kirsteen  was  washing  breakfast  things  which  had 
a  leadless  glaze,  and  Tryst's  three  children,  extremely 
tidy,  stood  motionless  at  the  edge  of  the  little  scullery, 
watching. 

When  she  had  joined  him  in  the  kitchen  Tod  shut 
the  door. 

"Two  policemen,"  he  said,  "want  Tryst.  Are 
they  to  have  him?" 

In  the  life  together  of  these  two  there  had,  from  the 
very  start,  been  a  queer  understanding  as  to  who 
should  decide  what.  It  had  become  by  now  so  much 
a  matter  of  instinct  that  combative  consultations, 
which  bulk  so  large  in  married  lives,  had  no  place  in 
theirs.  A  frowning  tremor  passed  over  her  face. 

"  I  suppose  they  must.  Derek  is  out.  Leave  it  to 
me,  Tod,  and  take  the  tinies  into  the  orchard. " 

Tod  took  the  three  little  Trysts  to  the  very  spot 
where  Derek  and  Nedda  had  gazed  over  the  darken- 

ais 


214 


THE  FREELANDS 


rmg  fields  in  exchanging  that  first  kiss,  and,  sitting 
on  the  stump  of  the  apple-tree  he  had  cut  down,  he 
presented  each  of  them  with  an  apple.  While  they 
ate,  he  stared.  And  his  dog  stared  at  him.  How 
far  there  worked  in  Tod  the  feelings  of  an  ordinary 
man  watching  three  small  children  whose  only  par- 
ent the  law  was  just  taking  into  its  charge  it  would 
be  rash  to  say,  but  his  eyes  were  extremely  blue  and 
there  was  a  frown  between  them. 

"Well,  Biddy?"  he  said  at  last. 

Biddy  did  not  reply;  the  habit  of  being  a  mother 
had  imposed  on  her,  together  with  the  gravity  of  her 
little,  pale,  oval  face,  a  peculiar  talent  for  silence. 
But  the  round-cheeked  Susie  said: 

" Billy  can  eat  cores." 

After  this  statement,  silence  was  broken  only  by 
munching,  till  Tod  remarked : 

"What  makes  things?" 

The  children,  having  the  instinct  that  he  had  not 
asked  them,  but  himself,  came  closer.  He  had  in  his 
hand  a  little  beetle. 

"This  beetle  lives  in  rotten  wood;  nice  chap,  isn't 
he?" 

"We  kill  beetles;  we're  afraid  of  them."  So 
Susie. 

They  were  now  round  Tod  so  close  that  Billy  was 
standing  on  one  of  his  large  feet,  Susie  leaning  her 
elbows  on  one  of  his  broad  knees,  and  Biddy's  slender 
little  body  pressed  against  his  huge  arm. 

"No,"  said  Tod;  "beetles  are  nice  chaps." 

"The  birds  eats  them,"  remarked  Billy. 


THE  FREELANDS  217 

"This  beetle,"  said  Tod,  "eats  wood.  It  eats 
through  trees  and  the  trees  get  rotten. " 

Biddy  spoke: 

"Then  they  don't  give  no  more  apples." 

Tod  put  the  beetle  down  and  Billy  got  off  his  foot 
to  tread  on  it.  When  he  had  done  his  best  the  beetle 
emerged  and  vanished  in  the  grass.  Tod,  who  had 
offered  no  remonstrance,  stretched  out  his  hand  and 
replaced  Billy  on  his  foot. 

"What  about  my  treading  on  you,  Billy?"  he  said. 

"Why?" 

"I'm  big  and  you're  little." 

On  Billy's  square  face  came  a  puzzled  defiance. 
If  he  had  not  been  early  taught  his  station  he  would 
evidently  have  found  some  poignant  retort.  An  in- 
toxicated bumblebee  broke  the  silence  by  buzzing 
into  Biddy's  fluffed-out,  corn-gold  hair.  Tod  took  it 
off  with  his  hand. 

"Lovely  chap,  isn't  he?" 

The  children,  who  had  recoiled,  drew  close  again, 
while  the  drunken  bee  crawled  feebly  in  the  cage  of 
Tod's  large  hand. 

"Bees  sting,"  said  Biddy;  "I  fell  on  a  bee  and  it 
stang  me!" 

"You  stang  it  first,"  said  Tod.  "This  chap 
wouldn't  sting — not  for  worlds.  Stroke  it!" 

Biddy  put  out  her  little,  pale  finger  but  stayed  it  a 
couple  of  inches  from  the  bee. 

"Go  on,  "said  Tod. 

Opening  her  mouth  a  little,  Biddy  went  on  and 
touched  the  bee. 


218  THE  FREELANDS 

" It's  soft, "  she  said.     "Why  don't  it  buzz ? " 

"I  want  to  stroke  it,  too,"  said  Susie.  And  Billy 
stamped  a  little  on  Tod's  foot. 

"No,"  said  Tod;  "only  Biddy." 

There  was  perfect  silence  till  the  dog,  rising,  ap- 
proached its  nose,  black  with  a  splash  of  pinky  white- 
ness on  the  end  of  the  bridge,  as  if  to  love  the  bee. 

"No, "  said  Tod.  The  dog  looked  at  him,  and  his 
yellow-brown  eyes  were  dark  with  anxiety. 

"It'll  sting  the  dog's  nose,"  said  Biddy,  and  Susie 
and  Billy  came  yet  closer. 

It  was  at  this  moment,  when  the  heads  of  the  dog, 
the  bee,  Tod,  Biddy,  Susie,  and  Billy  might  have 
been  contained  within  a  noose  three  feet  in  diameter, 
that  Felix  dismounted  from  Stanley's  car  and,  com- 
ing from  the  cottage,  caught  sight  of  that  little  idyll 
under  the  dappled  sunlight,  green,  and  blossom.  It 
was  something  from  the  core  of  life,  out  of  the  heart- 
beat of  things — like  a  rare  picture  or  song,  the  revela- 
tion of  the  childlike  wonder  and  delight,  to  which  all 
other  things  are  but  the  supernumerary  casings — a 
little  pool  of  simplicity  into  which  fever  and  yearning 
sank  and  were  for  a  moment  drowned.  And  quite 
possibly  he  would  have  gone  away  without  disturb- 
ing them  if  the  dog  had  not  growled  and  wagged  his 
tail. 

But  when  the  children  had  been  sent  down  into 
the  field  he  experienced  the  usual  difficulty  in  com- 
mencing a  talk  with  Tod.  How  far  was  his  big 
brother  within  reach  of  mere  unphilosophic  state- 
ments; how  far  was  he  going  to  attend  to  facts? 


THE  FREELANDS  219 

"We  came  back  yesterday,"  he  began;  "Nedda 
and  I.  You  know  all  about  Derek  and  Nedda,  I 
suppose?'7 

Tod  nodded. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"He's  a  good  chap." 

"Yes,"  murmured  Felix,  "but  a  firebrand.  This 
business  at  Malloring's — what's  it  going  to  lead  to, 
Tod?  We  must  look  out,  old  man.  Couldn't  you 
send  Derek  and  Sheila  abroad  for  a  bit?  " 

"Wouldn't  go." 

"But,  after  all,  they're  dependent  on  you." 

"Don't  say  that  to  them;  I  should  never  see  them 
again. " 

Felix,  who  felt  the  instinctive  wisdom  of  that  re- 
mark, answered  helplessly: 

"What's  to  be  done,  then?" 

"Sit  tight."  And  Tod's  hand  came  down  on 
Felix's  shoulder. 

"But  suppose  they  get  into  real  trouble?  Stan- 
ley and  John  don't  like  it;  and  there's  Mother." 
And  Felix  added,  with  sudden  heat,  "Besides,  I 
can't  stand  Nedda  being  made  anxious  like  this. " 

Tod  removed  his  hand.  Felix  would  have  given 
a  good  deal  to  have  been  able  to  see  into  the  brain 
behind  the  frowning  stare  of  those  blue  eyes. 

"Can't  help  by  worrying.  What  must  be,  will. 
Look  at  the  birds!" 

The  remark  from  any  other  man  would  have  irri- 
tated Felix  profoundly;  coming  from  Tod,  it  seemed 
the  unconscious  expression  of  a  really  felt  philoso- 


220  THE  FREELANDS 

phy.  And,  after  all,  was  he  not  right?  What  was 
this  life  they  all  lived  but  a  ceaseless  worrying  over 
what  was  to  come?  Was  not  all  man's  unhappiness 
caused  by  nervous  anticipations  of  the  future  ?  Was 
not  that  the  disease,  and  the  misfortune,  of  the  age; 
perhaps  of  all  the  countless  ages  man  had  lived 
through  ? 

With  an  effort  he  recalled  his  thoughts  from  that 
far  flight.  What  if  Tod  had  rediscovered  the  secret 
of  the  happiness  that  belonged  to  birds  and  lilies  of 
the  field — such  overpowering  interest  in  the  moment 
that  the  future  did  not  exist  ?  Why  not  ?  Were  not 
the  only  minutes  when  he  himself  was  really  happy 
those  when  he  lost  himself  in  work,  or  love?  And 
why  were  they  so  few  ?  For  want  of  pressure  to  the 
square  moment.  Yes !  All  unhappiness  was  fear 
and  lack  of  vitality  to  live  the  present  fully.  That 
was  why  love  and  fighting  were  such  poignant  ec- 
stasies— they  lived  their  present  to  the  full.  And  so  it 
would  be  almost  comic  to  say  to  those  young  people : 
Go  away;  do  nothing  in  this  matter  in  which  your  in- 
terest and  your  feelings  are  concerned !  Don't  have 
a  present,  because  you've  got  to  have  a  future !  And 
he  said: 

"I'd  give  a  good  deal  for  your  power  of  losing 
yourself  in  the  moment,  old  boy !" 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Tod.  He  was  examining 
the  bark  of  a  tree,  which  had  nothing  the  matter  with 
it,  so  far  as  Felix  could  see;  while  his  dog,  who  had 
followed  them,  carefully  examined  Tod.  Both  were 
obviously  lost  in  the  moment.  And  with  a  feeling 
of  defeat  Felix  led  the  way  back  to  the  cottage. 


THE  FREELANDS  221 

In  the  brick-floored  kitchen  Derek  was  striding  up 
and  down;  while  around  him,  in  an  equilateral 
triangle,  stood  the  three  women,  Sheila  at  the  win- 
dow, Kirsteen  by  the  open  hearth,  Nedda  against  the 
wall  opposite.  Derek  exclaimed  at  once: 

"  Why  did  you  let  them,  Father  ?  Why  didn't  you 
refuse  to  give  him  up?" 

Felix  looked  at  his  brother.  In  the  doorway, 
where  his  curly  head  nearly  touched  the  wood,  Tod's 
face  was  puzzled,  rueful.  He  did  not  answer. 

"Any  one  could  have  said  he  wasn't  here.  We 
could  have  smuggled  him  away.  Now  the  brutes 
have  got  him !  I  don't  know  that,  though — "  And 
he  made  suddenly  for  the  door. 

Tod  did  not  budge.     "No, "  he  said. 

Derek  turned;  his  mother  was  at  the  other  door; 
at  the  window,  the  two  girls. 

The  comedy  of  this  scene,  if  there  be  comedy  in  the 
face  of  grief,  was  for  the  moment  lost  on  Felix. 

'It's  come,'  he  thought.     'What  now?' 

Derek  had  flung  himself  down  at  the  table  and 
was  burying  his  head  in  his  hands.  Sheila  went  up 
to  him. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Derek." 

However  right  and  natural  that  remark,  it  seemed 
inadequate. 

And  Felix  looked  at  Nedda.  The  blue  motor  scarf 
she  had  worn  had  slipped  off  her  dark  head;  her  face 
was  white;  her  eyes,  fixed  immovably  on  Derek, 
seemed  waiting  for  him  to  recognize  that  she  was 
there.  The  boy  broke  out  again: 

"It  was  treachery!    We  took  him  in;  and  now 


222  THE  FREELANDS 

we've  given  him  up.  They  wouldn't  have  touched 
us  if  we'd  got  him  away.  Not  they ! " 

Felix  literally  heard  the  breathing  of  Tod  on  one 
side  of  him  and  of  Kirsteen  on  the  other.  He  crossed 
over  and  stood  opposite  his  nephew. 

"Look  here,  Derek,"  he  said;  "your  mother  was 
quite  right.  You  might  have  put  this  off  for  a  day 
or  two;  but  it  was  bound  to  come.  You  don't  know 
the  reach  of  the  law.  Come,  my  dear  fellow !  It's 
no  good  making  a  fuss,  that's  childish — the  thing  is 
to  see  that  the  man  gets  every  chance. " 

Derek  looked  up.  Probably  he  had  not  yet 
realized  that  his  uncle  was  in  the  room;  and  Felix 
was  astonished, at  his  really  haggard  face;  as  if  the 
incident  had  bitten  and  twisted  some  vital  in  his 
body. 

"He  trusted  us." 

Felix  saw  Kirsteen  quiver  and  flinch,  and  under- 
stood why  they  had  none  of  them  felt  quite  able  to 
turn  their  backs  on  that  display  of  passion.  Some- 
thing deep  and  unreasoning  was  on  the  boy's  side; 
something  that  would  not  fit  with  common  sense  and 
the  habits  of  civilized  society;  something  from  an 
Arab's  tent  or  a  Highland  glen.  Then  Tod  came  up 
behind  and  put  his  hands  on  his  son's  shoulders. 

"Come!"  he  said;  "milk's  spilt." 

"All  right ! "  said  Derek  gruffly,  and  he  went  to  the 
door. 

Felix  made  Nedda  a  sign  and  she  slipped  out  after 
him. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

NEDDA,  her  blue  head-gear  trailing,  followed  along 
at  the  boy's  side  while  he  passed  through  the  orchard 
and  two  fields;  and  when  he  threw  himself  down 
under  an  ash-tree  she,  too,  subsided,  waiting  for 
him  to  notice  her. 

"I  am  here/'  she  said  at  last. 

At  that  ironic  little  speech  Derek  sat  up. 

"It'll  kiU  him,"  he  said. 

"But — to  burn  things,  Derek!  To  light  horrible 
cruel  flames,  and  burn  things,  even  if  they  aren't 
alive!" 

Derek  said  through  his  teeth: 

"It's  I  who  did  it !  If  I'd  never  talked  to  him  he'd 
have  been  like  the  others.  They  were  taking  him  in 
a  cart,  like  a  calf." 

Nedda  got  possession  of  his  hand  and  held  it  tight. 

That  was  a  bitter  and  frightening  hour  under  the 
faintly  rustling  ash-tree,  while  the  wind  sprinkled 
over  her  flakes  of  the  may  blossom,  just  past  its 
prime.  Love  seemed  now  so  little  a  thing,  seemed  to 
have  lost  warmth  and  power,  seemed  like  a  suppliant 
outside  a  door.  Why  did  trouble  come  like  this  the 
moment  one  felt  deeply? 

The  church  bell  was  tolling;  they  could  see  the 
little  congregation  pass  across  the  churchyard  into 

223 


224  THE  FREELANDS 

that  weekly  dream  they  knew  too  well.  And  pres- 
ently the  drone  emerged,  mingling  with  the  voices 
outside,  of  sighing  trees  and  trickling  water,  of  the 
rub  of  wings,  birds'  songs,  and  the  callings  of  beasts 
everywhere  beneath  the  sky. 

In  spite  of  suffering  because  love  was  not  the  first 
emotion  in  his  heart,  the  girl  could  only  feel  he  was 
right  not  to  be  loving  her;  that  she  ought  to  be  glad 
of  what  was  eating  up  all  else  within  him.  It  was 
ungenerous,  unworthy,  to  want  to  be  loved  at  such 
a  moment.  Yet  she  could  not  help  it!  This  was 
her  first  experience  of  the  eternal  tug  between  self  and 
the  loved  one  pulled  in  the  hearts  of  lovers.  Would 
she  ever  come  to  feel  happy  when  he  was  just  doing 
what  he  thought  was  right?  *  And  she  drew  a  little 
away  from  him;  then  perceived  that  unwittingly  she 
had  done  the  right  thing,  for  he  at  once  tried  to  take 
her  hand  again.  And  this  was  her  first  lesson,  too, 
in  the  nature  of  man.  If  she  did  not  give  her  hand, 
he  wanted  it!  But  she  was  not  one  of  those  who 
calculate  in  love;  so  she  gave  him  her  hand  at  once. 
That  went  to  his  heart;  and  he  put  his  arm  round 
her,  till  he  could  feel  the  emotion  under  those  stays 
that  would  not  be  drawn  any  closer.  In  this  nest 
beneath  the  ash-tree  they  sat  till  they  heard  the 
organ  wheeze  and  the  furious  sound  of  the  last  hymn, 
and  saw  the  brisk  coming-f orth  with  its  air  of, '  Thank 
God !  And  now,  to  eat ! '  till  at  last  there  was  no 
stir  again  about  the  little  church — no  stir  at  all  save 
that  of  nature's  ceaseless  thanksgiving.  .  .  . 

Tod,  his  brown  face  still  rueful,  had  followed  those 


THE  FREELANDS  225 

two  out  into  the  air,  and  Sheila  had  gone  quickly 
after  him.  Thus  left  alone  with  his  sister-in-law, 
Felix  said  gravely: 

"  If  you  don't  want  the  boy  to  get  into  real  trouble, 
do  all  you  can  to  show  him  that  the  last  way  in  the 
world  to  help  these  poor  fellows  is  to  let  them  fall  foul 
of  the  law.  It's  madness  to  light  flames  you  can't 
put  out.  What  happened  this  morning?  Did  the 
man  resist?" 

Her  face  still  showed  how  bitter  had  been  her 
mortification,  and  he  was  astonished  that  she  kept 
her  voice  so  level  and  emotionless. 

"No.  He  went  with  them  quite  quietly.  The 
back  door  was  open;  he  could  have  walked  out. 
I  did  not  advise  him  to.  I'm  glad  no  one  saw  his  face 
except  myself.  You  see,"  she  added,  "he's  devoted 
to  Derek,  and  Derek  knows  it;  that's  why  he  feels  it 
so,  and  will  feel  it  more  and  more.  The  boy  has  a 
great  sense  of  honour,  Felix." 

Under  that  tranquillity  Felix  caught  the  pain  and 
yearning  in  her  voice.  Yes !  This  woman  really 
felt  and  saw.  She  was  not  one  of  those  who  make  dis- 
turbance with  their  brains  and  powers  of  criticism; 
rebellion  leaped  out  from  the  heat  in  her  heart.  But 
he  said: 

"Is  it  right  to  fan  this  flame?  Do  you  think  any 
good  end  is  being  served  ?  "  Waiting  for  her  answer, 
he  found  himself  gazing  at  the  ghost  of  dark  down  on 
her  upper  lip,  wondering  that  he  had  never  noticed  it 
before. 

Very  low,  as  if  to  herself,  she  said : 


226  THE  FREELANDS 

"I  would  kill  myself  to-day  if  I  didn't  believe  that 
tyranny  and  injustice  must  end." 

"In  our  time?" 

"Perhaps  not." 

"Are  you  content  to  go  on  working  for  an  Utopia 
that  you  will  never  see  ?  " 

"While  our  laborers  are  treated  and  housed  more 
like  dogs  than  human  beings,  while  the  best  life  under 
the  sun — because  life  on  the  soil  might  be  the  best 
life — is  despised  and  starved,  and  made  the  plaything 
of  people's  tongues,  neither  I  nor  mine  are  going  to 
rest." 

The  admiration  she  inspired  in  Felix  at  that  mo- 
ment was  mingled  with  a  kind  of  pity.  He  said  im- 
pressively: 

"Do  you  know  the  forces  you  are  up  against? 
Have  you  looked  into  the  unfathomable  heart  of  this 
trouble?  Understood  the  tug  of  the  towns,  the  call 
of  money  to  money;  grasped  the  destructive  restless- 
ness of  modern  life;  the  abysmal  selfishness  of  people 
when  you  threaten  their  interests;  the  age-long 
apathy  of  those  you  want  to  help?  Have  you 
grasped  all  these?" 

"And  more!" 

Felix  held  out  his  hand.  "Then,"  he  said,  "you 
are  truly  brave!" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  It  got  bitten  into  me  very  young.  I  was  brought 
up  in  the  Highlands  among  the  crofters  in  their  worst 
days.  In  some  ways  the  people  here  are  not  so  badly 
off,  but  they're  still  slaves. " 


THE  FREELANDS  227 

"Except  that  they  can  go  to  Canada  if  they  want, 
and  save  old  England. " 

She  flushed.     "  I  hate  irony. " 

Felix  looked  at  her  with  ever-increasing' interest; 
she  certainly  was  of  the  kind  that  could  be  relied  on 
to  make  trouble. 

"Ah!"  he  murmured.  "Don't  forget  that  when 
we  can  no  longer  smile  we  can  only  swell  and  burst. 
It  is  some  consolation  to  reflect  that  by  the  time 
we've  determined  to  do  something  really  effectual 
for  the  ploughmen  of  England  there'll  be  no  plough- 
men left!" 

"I  cannot  smile  at  that." 

And,  studying  her  face,  Felix  thought,  'You're 
right  there !  You'll  get  no  help  from  humor. '  .  .  . 

Early  that  afternoon,  with  Nedda  between  them, 
Felix  and  his  nephew  were  speeding  toward  Trans- 
ham. 

The  little  town — a  hamlet  when  Edmund  Moreton 
dropped  the  e  from  his  name  and  put  up  the  works 
which  Stanley  had  so  much  enlarged — had  monopo- 
lized by  now  the  hill  on  which  it  stood.  Living  en- 
tirely on  its  ploughs,  it  yet  had  but  little  of  the  true 
look  of  a  British  factory  town,  having  been  for  the 
most  part  built  since  ideas  came  into  fashion.  With 
its  red  roofs  and  chimneys,  it  was  only  moderately 
ugly,  and  here  and  there  an  old  white,  timbered 
house  still  testified  to  the  fact  that  it  had  once  been 
country.  On  this  fine  Sunday  afternoon  the  popula- 
tion were  in  the  streets,  and  presented  all  that  long 
narrow-headedness,  that  twist  and  distortion  of  fea- 


228  THE  FREELANDS 

ture,  that  perfect  absence  of  beauty  in  face,  figure, 
and  dress,  which  is  the  glory  of  the  Briton  who  has 
been  for  three  generations  in  a  town.  'And  my 
great-grandfather' — thought  Felix — 'did  all  this! 
God  rest  his  soul ! ' 

At  a  rather  new  church  on  the  very  top  they 
halted,  and  went  in  to  inspect  the  Morton  memorials. 
There  they  were,  in  dedicated  corners.  'Edmund 
and  his  wife  Catherine' — 'Charles  Edmund  and  his 
wife  Florence7 — 'Maurice  Edmund  and  his  wife 
Dorothy.'  Clara  had  set  her  foot  down  against 
'  Stanley  and  his  wife  Clara '  being  in  the  fourth ;  her 
soul  was  above  ploughs,  and  she,  of  course,  intended 
to  be  buried  at  Becket,  as  Clara,  dowager  Lady  Free- 
land,  for  her  efforts  in  regard  to  the  land.  Felix, 
who  had  a  tendency  to  note  how  things  affected 
other  people,  watched  Derek's  inspection  of  these 
memorials  and  marked  that  they  excited  in  him  no 
tendency  to  ribaldry.  The  boy,  indeed,  could  hardly 
be  expected  to  see  in  them  what  Felix  saw — an  epit- 
ome of  the  great,  perhaps  fatal,  change  that  had  be- 
fallen his  native  country;  a  record  of  the  beginning 
of  that  far-back  fever,  whose  course  ran  ever  faster, 
which  had  emptied  country  into  town  and  slowly, 
surely,  changed  the  whole  spirit  of  life.  When  Ed- 
mund Moreton,  about  1780,  took  the  infection  dis- 
seminated by  the  development  of  machinery,  and 
left  the  farming  of  his  acres  to  make  money,  that 
thing  was  done  which  they  were  all  now  talking  about 
trying  to  undo,  with  their  cries  of:  "Back  to  the 
land  !  Back  to  peace  and  sanity  in  the  shade  of  the 


THE  FREELANDS  229 

elms !  Back  to  the  simple  and  patriarchal  state  of 
feeling  which  old  documents  disclose.  Back  to  a  time 
before  these  little  squashed  heads  and  bodies  and 
features  jutted  every  which  way;  before  there  were 
long  squashed  streets  of  gray  houses;  long  squashed 
chimneys  emitting  smoke-blight;  long  squashed  rows 
of  graves;  and  long  squashed  columns  of  the  daily 
papers.  Back  to  well-fed  countrymen  who  could  not 
read,  with  Common  rights,  and  a  kindly  feeling  for 
old  '  More  tons, '  who  had  a  kindly  feeling  for  them  !" 
Back  to  all  that?  A  dream!  Sirs!  A  dream! 
There  was  nothing  for  it  now,  but — progress !  Prog- 
ress !  On  with  the  dance  !  Let  engines  rip,  and  the 
little,  squash-headed  fellows  with  them !  Commerce, 
literature,  religion,  science,  politics,  all  taking  a  hand; 
what  a  glorious  chance  had  money,  ugliness,  and  ill 
will !  Such  were  the  reflections  of  Felix  before  the 
brass  tablet: 

"!N  LOVING  MEMORY  OF 
EDMUND  MORTON 

AND 

His  DEVOTED  WIFE 
CATHERINE. 

AT  REST  IN  THE  LORD.    A.  D.,  1816." 

From  the  church  they  went  about  their  proper 
business,  to  interview  a  Mr.  Pogram,  of  the  firm  of 
Pogram  &  Collet,  solicitors,  in  whose  hands  the  in- 
terests of  many  citizens  of  Transham  and  the  coun- 
try round  were  almost  securely  deposited.  He  occu- 
pied, curiously  enough,  the  house  where  Edmund 


230  THE  FREELANDS 

Morton  himself  had  lived,  conducting  his  works  on 
the  one  hand  and  the  squirearchy  of  the  parish  on  the 
other.  Incorporated  now  into  the  line  of  a  long,  loose 
street,  it  still  stood  rather  apart  from  its  neighbors, 
behind  some  large  shrubs  and  trees  of  the  holm- 
oak  variety. 

Mr.  Pogram,  who  was  finishing  his  Sunday  after- 
lunch  cigar,  was  a  short,  clean-shaved  man  with 
strong  cheeks  and  those  rather  lustful  gray-blue  eyes 
which  accompany  a  sturdy  figure.  He  rose  when 
they  were  introduced,  and,  uncrossing  his  fat  little 
thighs,  asked  what  he  could  do  for  them. 

Felix  propounded  the  story  of  the  arrest,  so  far  as 
might  be,  in  words  of  one  syllable,  avoiding  the  senti- 
mental aspect  of  the  question,  and  finding  it  hard  to 
be  on  the  side  of  disorder,  as  an}-  moaern  writer 
might.  There  was  something,  however,  about  Mr. 
Pogram  that  reassured  him.  The  small  fellow  looked 
a  fighter — looked  as  if  he  would  sympathize  with 
Tryst's  want  of  a  woman  about  him.  The  tusky  but 
soft-hearted  little  brute  kept  nodding  his  round, 
sparsely  covered  head  while  he  listened,  exuding  a 
smell  of  lavender-water,  cigars,  and  gutta-percha. 
When  Felix  ceased  he  said,  rather  dryly: 

"  Sir  Gerald  Malloring  ?  Yes.  Sir  Gerald's  coun- 
try agents,  I  rather  think,  are  Messrs.  Porter  of 
Worcester.  Quite  so. " 

And  a  conviction  that  Mr.  Pogram  thought  they 
should  have  been  Messrs.  Pogram  &  Collet  of  Trans- 
ham  confirmed  in  Felix  the  feeling  that  they  had 
come  to  the  right  man. 


THE  FREELANDS  231 

"I  gather,"  Mr.  Pogram  said,  and  he  looked  at 
Nedda  with  a  glance  from  which  he  obviously  tried 
to  remove  all  earthly  desires,  "  that  you,  sir,  and  your 
nephew  wish  to  go  and  see  the  man.  Mrs.  Pogram 
will  be  delighted  to  show  Miss  Freeland  our  garden. 
Your  great-grandfather,  sir,  on  the  mother's  side, 
lived  in  this  house.  Delighted  to  meet  you;  often 
heard  of  your  books;  Mrs.  Pogram  has  read  one — let 
me  see — 'The  Bannister/  was  it?" 

"'The  Balustrade,'"  Felix  answered  gently. 

Mr.  Pogram  rang  the  bell.  "Quite  so,"  he  said. 
"Assizes  are  just  over  so  that  he  can't  come  up  for 
trial  till  August  or  September;  pity — great  pity ! 
Bail  in  cases  of  arson — for  a  laborer,  very  doubtful ! 
Ask  your  mistress  to  come,  please. " 

There  entered  a  faded  rose  of  a  woman  on  whom 
Mr.  Pogram  in  his  time  had  evidently  made  a  great 
impression.  A  vista  of  two  or  three  little  Pograms 
behind  her  was  hastily  removed  by  the  maid.  And 
they  all  went  into  the  garden. 

"Through  here,"  said  Mr.  Pogram,  coming  to  a 
side  door  in  the  garden  wall,  "we  can  make  a  short 
cut  to  the  police  station.  As  we  go  along  I  shall  ask 
you  one  or  two  blunt  questions."  And  he  thrust 
out  his  under  lip: 

"  For  instance,  what's  your  interest  in  this  matter  ?' ' 

Before  Felix  could  answer,  Derek  had  broken  in: 

"My  uncle  has  come  out  of  kindness.  It's  my 
affair,  sir.  The  man  has  been  tyrannously  treated. " 

Mr.  Pogram  cocked  his  eye.  "Yes,  yes;  no  doubt, 
no  doubt !  He's  not  confessed,  I  understand?" 


232  THE  FREELANDS 

"No;  but " 

Mr.  Pogram  laid  a  finger  on  his  lips. 

"Never  say  die;  that's  what  we're  here  for.  So," 
he  went  on,  "you're  a  rebel;  Socialist,  perhaps.  Dear 
me!  Well,  we're  all  of  us  something,  nowadays— 
I'm  a  humanitarian  myself.  Often  say  to  Mrs.  Po- 
gram— humanity's  the  thing  in  this  age — and  so  it  is ! 
Well,  now,  what  line  shall  we  take  ?  "  And  he  rubbed 
his  hands.  "Shall  we  have  a  try  at  once  to  upset 
what  evidence  they've  got?  We  should  want  a 
strong  alibi.  Our  friends  here  will  commit  if  they 
can — nobody  likes  arson.  I  understand  he  was 
sleeping  in  your  cottage.  His  room,  now?  Was  it 
on  the  ground  floor?" 

"Yes;  but " 

Mr.  Pogram  frowned,  as  who  should  say:  Ah! 
Be  careful !  "He  had  better  reserve  his  defence  and 
give  us  time  to  turn  round,"  he  said  rather  shortly. 

They  had  arrived  at  the  police  station  and  after  a 
little  parley  were  ushered  into  the  presence  of  Tryst. 

The  big  laborer  was  sitting  on  the  stool  in  his  cell, 
leaning  back  against  the  wall,  his  hands  loose  and 
open  at  his  sides.  His  gaze  passed  at  once  from 
Felix  and  Mr.  Pogram,  who  were  in  advance,  to 
Derek;  and  the  dumb  soul  seemed  suddenly  to  look 
through,  as  one  may  see  all  there  is  of  spirit  in  a  dog 
reach  out  to  its  master.  This  was  the  first  time 
Felix  had  seen  him  who  had  caused  already  so  much 
anxiety,  and  that  broad,  almost  brutal  face,  with  the 
yearning  fidelity  in  its  tragic  eyes,  made  a  powerful 
impression  on  him.  It  was  the  sort  of  face  one  did 


THE  FREELANDS  233 

not  forget  and  might  be  glad  of  not  remembering  in 
dreams.  What  had  put  this  yearning  spirit  into  so 
gross  a  frame,  destroying  its  solid  coherence?  Why 
could  not  Tryst  have  been  left  by  nature  just  a  beer- 
loving  serf,  devoid  of  grief  for  his  dead  wife,  devoid 
of  longing  for  the  nearest  he  could  get  to  her  again, 
devoid  of  susceptibility  to  this  young  man's  in- 
fluence ?  And  the  thought  of  all  that  was  before  the 
mute  creature,  sitting  there  in  heavy,  hopeless 
patience,  stung  Felix's  heart  so  that  he  could  hardly 
bear  to  look  him  in  the  face. 

Derek  had  taken  the  man's  thick,  brown  hand; 
Felix  could  see  with  what  effort  the  boy  was  biting 
back  his  feelings. 

"This  is  Mr.  Pogram,  Bob.  A  solicitor  who'll  do 
all  he  can  for  you." 

Felix  looked  at  Mr.  Pogram.  The  little  man  was 
standing  with  arms  akimbo;  his  face  the  queerest 
mixture  of  shrewdness  and  compassion,  and  he  was 
giving  off  an  almost  needlessly  strong  scent  of  gutta- 
percha. 

"Yes,  my  man,"  he  said,  "you  and  I  are  going  to 
have  a  talk  when  these  gentlemen  have  done  with 
you, "  and,  turning  on  his  heel,  he  began  to  touch  up 
the  points  of  his  little  pink  nails  with  a  penknife,  in 
front  of  the  constable  who  stood  outside  the  cell 
door,  with  his  professional  air  of  giving  a  man  a 
chance. 

Invaded  by  a  feeling,  apt  to  come  to  him  in  Zoos, 
that  he  was  watching  a  creature  who  had  no  chance 
to  escape  being  watched,  Felix  also  turned;  but, 


234  THE  FREELANDS 

though  his  eyes  saw  not,  his  ears  could  not  help 
hearing. 

"  Forgive  me,  Bob  !    It's  I  who  got  you  into  this  ! " 

"No,  sir;  naught  to  forgive.  I'll  soon  be  back, 
and  then  they'll  see!" 

By  the  reddening  of  Mr.  Pogram's  ears  Felix 
formed  the  opinion  that  the  little  man,  also,  could 
hear. 

"Tell  her  not  to  fret,  Mr.  Derek.  I'd  like  a  shirt, 
in  case  I've  got  to  stop.  The  children  needn'  know 
where  I  be;  though  I  an't  ashamed." 

"It  may  be  a  longer  job  than  you  think,  Bob. " 

In  the  silence  that  followed  Felix  could  not  help 
turning.  The  laborer's  eyes  were  moving  quickly 
round  his  cell,  as  if  for  the  first  time  he  realized  that 
he  was  shut  up;  suddenly  he  brought  those  big  hands 
of  his  together  and  clasped  them  between  his  knees, 
and  again  his  gaze  ran  round  the  cell.  Felix  heard 
the  clearing  of  a  throat  close  by,  and,  more  than  ever 
conscious  of  the  scent  of  gutta-percha,  grasped  its 
connection  with  compassion  in  the  heart  of  Mr. 
Pogram.  He  caught  Derek's  muttered,  "Don't  ever 
think  we're  forgetting  you,  Bob,"  and  something 
that  sounded  like,  "And  don't  ever  say  you  did  it." 
Then,  passing  Felix  and  the  little  lawyer,  the  boy 
went  out.  His  head  was  held  high,  but  tears  were 
running  down  his  cheeks.  Felix  followed. 

A  bank  of  clouds,  gray- white,  was  rising  just  above 
the  red-tiled  roofs,  but  the  sun  still  shone  brightly. 
And  the  thought  of  the  big  laborer  sitting  there 
knocked  and  knocked  at  Felix's  heart  mournfully, 


THE  FREELANDS  235 

miserably.  He  had  a  warmer  feeling  for  his  young 
nephew  than  he  had  ever  had.  Mr.  Pogram  rejoined 
them  soon,  and  they  walked  on  together. 

"Well?"  said  Felix. 

Mr.  Pogram  answered  in  a  somewhat  grumpy 
voice: 

"Not  guilty,  and  reserve  defence.  You  have  in- 
fluence, young  man !  Dumb  as  a  waiter.  Poor 
devil !"  And  not  another  word  did  he  say  till  they 
had  re-entered  his  garden. 

Here  the  ladies,  surrounded  by  many  little 
Pograms,  were  having  tea.  And  seated  next  the 
little  lawyer,  whose  eyes  were  fixed  on  Nedda,  Felix 
was  able  to  appreciate  that  in  happier  mood  he  ex- 
haled almost  exclusively  the  scent  of  lavender-water 
and  cigars. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

ON  their  way  back  to  Becket,  after  the  visit  to 
Tryst,  Felix  and  Nedda  dropped  Derek  half-way  on 
the  road  to  Joyfields.  They  found  that  the  Becket 
household  already  knew  of  the  arrest.  Woven  into 
a  dirge  on  the  subject  of  'the  Land/  the  last  town 
doings,  and  adventures  on  golf  courses,  it  formed  the 
genial  topic  of  the  dinner- table;  for  the  Bulgarian 
with  his  carbohydrates  was  already  a  wonder  of  the 
past.  The  Bigwigs  of  this  week-end  were  quite  a  dif- 
ferent lot  from  those  of  three  weeks  ago,  and  compara- 
tively homogeneous,  having  only  three  different  plans 
for  settling  the  land  question,  none  of  which,  fortu- 
nately, involved  any  more  real  disturbance  of  the 
existing  state  of  things  than  the  potato,  brown-bread 
plan,  for  all  were  based  on  the  belief  held  by  the  re- 
spectable press,  and  constructive  portions  of  the  com- 
munity, that  omelette  can  be  made  without  break- 
ing eggs.  On  one  thing  alone,  the  whole  house  party 
was  agreed — the  importance  of  the  question.  Indeed, 
a  sincere  conviction  on  this  point  was  like  the  card  one 
produces  before  one  is  admitted  to  certain  functions. 
No  one  came  to  Becket  without  it;  or,  if  he  did,  he 
begged,  borrowed,  or  stole  it  the  moment  he  smelled 
Clara's  special  pot-pourri  in  the  hall;  and,  though 
he  sometimes  threw  it  out  of  the  railway-carriage 


THE  FREELANDS  237 

window  in  returning  to  town,  there  was  nothing  re- 
markable about  that.  The  conversational  debauch 
of  the  first  night's  dinner — and,  alas !  there  were  only 
two  even  at  Becket  during  a  week-end — had  un- 
doubtedly revealed  the  feeling,  which  had  set  in  of 
late,  that  there  was  nothing  really  wrong  with  the 
condition  of  the  agricultural  laborer,  the  only 
trouble  being  that  the  unreasonable  fellow  did  not 
stay  on  the  land.  It  was  believed  that  Henry  Wilt- 
ram,  in  conjunction  with  Colonel  Martlett,  was  on 
the  point  of  promoting  a  policy  for  imposing  penalties 
on  those  who  attempted  to  leave  it  without  good 
reason,  such  reason  to  be  left  to  the  discretion  of 
impartial  district  boards,  composed  each  of  one 
laborer,  one  farmer,  and  one  landowner,  decision 
going  by  favor  of  majority.  And  though  opinion 
was  rather  freely  expressed  that,  since  the  voting 
would  always  be  two  to  one  against,  this  might 
trench  on  the  liberty  of  the  subject,  many  thought 
that  the  interests  of  the  country  were  so  much  above 
this  consideration  that  something  of  the  sort  would 
be  found,  after  all,  to  be  the  best  arrangement.  The 
cruder  early  notions  of  resettling  the  land  by  fostering 
peasant  proprietorship,  with  habitable  houses  and 
security  of  tenure,  were  already  under  a  cloud,  since 
it  was  more  than  suspected  that  they  would  inter- 
fere unduly  with  the  game  laws  and  other  soundly 
vested  interests.  Mere  penalization  of  those  who 
(or  whose  fathers  before  them)  had  at  great  pains 
planted  so  much  covert,  enclosed  so  much  common, 
ind  laid  so  much  country  down  in  grass  was  hardly 


238  THE  FREELANDS 

a  policy  for  statesmen.  A  section  of  the  guests,  and 
that  perhaps  strongest  because  most  silent,  dis- 
tinctly favored  this  new  departure  of  Henry  Wilt- 
ram's.  Coupled  with  his  swinging  corn  tax,  it  was 
indubitably  a  stout  platform. 

A  second  section  of  the  guests  spoke  openly  in 
favor  of  Lord  Settleham's  policy  of  good-will.  The 
whole  thing,  they  thought,  must  be  voluntary,  and 
they  did  not  see  any  reason  why,  if  it  were  left  to  the 
kindness  and  good  intentions  of  the  landowner,  there 
should  be  any  land  question  at  all.  Boards  would 
be  formed  in  every  county  on  which  such  model  land- 
owners as -Sir  Gerald  Malloring,  or  Lord  Settleham 
himself,  would  sit,  to  apply  the  principles  of  good- 
will. Against  this  policy  the  only  criticism  was 
levelled  by  Felix.  He  could  have  agreed,  he  said,  if 
he  had  not  noticed  that  Lord  Settleham,  and  nearly 
all  landowners,  were  thoroughly  satisfied  with  their 
existing  good-will  and  averse  to  any  changes  in  their 
education  that  might  foster  an  increase  of  it.  If 
—he  asked — landowners  were  so  full  of  good- will,  and 
so  satisfied  that  they  could  not  be  improved  in  that 
matter,  why  had  they  not  already  done  what  was  now 
proposed,  and  settled  the  land  question?  He  himself 
believed  that  the  land  question,  like  any  other,  was 
only  capable  of  settlement  through  improvement  in 
the  spirit  of  all  concerned,  but  he  found  it  a  little 
difficult  to  credit  Lord  Settleham  and  the  rest  of  the 
landowners  with  sincerity  in  the  matter  so  long  as 
they  were  unconscious  of  any  need  for  their  own  im- 
provement. According  to  him,  they  wanted  it  both 


THE  FREELANDS  239 

ways,  and,  so  far  as  he  could  see,  they  meant  to 
have  it! 

His  use  of  the  word  sincere,  in  connection  with 
Lord  Settleham,  was  at  once  pounced  on.  He  could 
not  know  Lord  Settleham — one  of  the  most  sincere 
of  men.  Felix  freely  admitted  that  he  did  not,  and 
hastened  to  explain  that  he  did  not  question  the — er 
— parliamentary  sincerity  of  Lord  Settleham  and  his 
followers.  He  only  ventured  to  doubt  whether  they 
realized  the  hold  that  human  nature  had  on  them. 
His  experience,  he  said,  of  the  houses  where  they  had 
been  bred,  and  the  seminaries  where  they  had  been 
trained,  had  convinced  him  that  there  was  still  a  con- 
spiracy on  foot  to  blind  Lord  Settleham  and  those 
others  concerning  all  this;  and,  since  they  were  them- 
selves part  of  the  conspiracy,  there  was  very  little 
danger  of  their  unmasking  it.  At  this  juncture 
Felix  was  felt  to  have  exceeded  the  limit  of  fair  criti- 
cism, and  only  that  toleration  toward  literary  men 
of  a  certain  reputation,  in  country  houses,  as  persons 
brought  there  to  say  clever  and  irresponsible  things, 
prevented  people  from  taking  him  seriously. 

The  third  section  of  the  guests,  unquestionably 
more  static  than  the  others,  confined  themselves  to 
pointing  out  that,  though  the  land  question  was  un- 
doubtedly serious,  nothing  whatever  would  result 
from  placing  any  further  impositions  upon  land- 
owners. For,  after  all,  what  was  land?  Simply 
capital  invested  in  a  certain  way,  and  very  poorly  at 
that.  And  what  was  capital?  Simply  a  means  of 
causing  wages  to  be  paid.  And  whether  they  were 


240  THE  FREELANDS 

paid  to  men  who  looked  after  birds  and  dogs,  loaded 
your  guns,  beat  your  coverts,  or  drove  you  to  the 
shoot,  or  paid  to  men  who  ploughed  and  fertilized 
the  land,  what  did  it  matter?  To  dictate  to  a  man 
to  whom  he  was  to  pay  wages  was,  in  the  last  degree, 
un-English.  Everybody  knew  the  fate  which  had 
come,  or  was  coming,  upon  capital.  It  was  being 
driven  out  of  the  country  by  leaps  and  bounds — 
though,  to  be  sure,  it  still  perversely  persisted  in 
yielding  every  year  a  larger  revenue  by  way  of  in- 
come tax.  And  it  would  be  dastardly  to  take  advan- 
tage of  land  just  because  it  was  the  only  sort  of  capital 
which  could  not  fly  the  country  in  times  of  need. 
Stanley  himself,  though — as  became  a  host — he  spoke 
little  and  argued  not  at  all,  was  distinctly  of  this  fac- 
tion; and  Clara  sometimes  felt  uneasy  lest  her  efforts 
to  focus  at  Becket  all  interest  in  the  land  question 
should  not  quite  succeed  in  outweighing  the  pas- 
sivity of  her  husband's  attitude.  But,  knowing  that 
it  is  bad  policy  to  raise  the  whip  too  soon,  she  trusted 
to  her  genius  to  bring  him  'with  one  run  at  the 
finish, '  as  they  say,  and  was  content  to  wait. 

There  was  universal  sympathy  with  the  Mallorings. 
If  a  model  landlord  like  Malloring  had  trouble  with 
his  people,  who — who  should  be  immune?  Arson! 
It  was  the  last  word!  Felix,  who  secretly  shared 
Nedda's  horror  of  the  insensate  cruelty  of  flames, 
listened,  nevertheless,  to  the  jubilation  that  they  had 
caught  the  fellow,  with  profound  disturbance.  For 
the  memory  of  the  big  laborer  seated  against  the  wall, 
his  eyes  haunting  round  his  cell,  quarrelled  fiercely 


THE  FREELANDS  241 

with  his  natural  abhorrence  of  any  kind  of  vio- 
lence, and  his  equally  natural  dislike  of  what  brought 
anxiety  into  his  own  life — and  the  life,  almost  as 
precious,  of  his  little  daughter.  Scarcely  a  word  of 
the  evening's  conversation  but  gave  him  in  high  de- 
gree the  feeling:  How  glib  all  this  is,  how  far  from 
reality !  How  fatted  up  with  shell  after  shell  of  com- 
fort and  security !  What  do  these  people  know,  what 
do  they  realize,  of  the  pressure  and  beat  of  raw  life 
that  lies  behind — what  do  even  I,  who  have  seen  this 
prisoner,  know?  For  us  it's  as  simple  as  killing  a  rat 
that  eats  our  corn,  or  a  flea  that  sucks  our  blood. 
Arson !  Destructive  brute — lock  him  up !  And 
something  in  Felix  said:  For  order,  for  security,  this 
may  be  necessary.  But  something  also  said:  Our 
smug  attitude  is  odious ! 

He  watched  his  little  daughter  closely,  and  several 
times  marked  the  color  rush  up  in  her  face,  and  once 
could  have  sworn  he  saw  tears  in  her  eyes.  If  the 
temper  of  this  talk  were  trying  to  him,  hardened  at  a 
hundred  dinner- tables,  what  must  it  be  to  a  young 
and  ardent  creature !  And  he  was  relieved  to  find, 
on  getting  to  the  drawing-room,  that  she  had  slipped 
behind  the  piano  and  was  chatting  quietly  with  her 
Uncle  John.  .  .  . 

As  to  whether  this  or  that  man  liked  her,  Nedda 
perhaps  was  not  more  ignorant  than  other  women; 
and  she  had  noted  a  certain  warmth  and  twinkle  in 
Uncle  John's  eyes  the  other  evening,  a  certain  rather 
jolly  tendency  to  look  at  her  when  he  should  have 
been  looking  at  the  person  to  whom  he  was  talking; 


242  THE  FREELANDS 

so  that  she  felt  toward  him  a  trustful  kindliness  not 
altogether  unmingled  with  a  sense  that  he  was  in  that 
Office  which  controls  the  destinies  of  those  who  'get 
into  trouble. '  The  motives  even  of  statesmen,  they 
say,  are  mixed;  how  much  more  so,  then,  of  girls  in 
love !  Tucked  away  behind  a  Steinway,  which  in- 
stinct told  her  was  not  for  use,  she  looked  up  under 
her  lashes  at  her  uncle's  still  military  figure  and  said 
softly: 

"It  was  awfully  good  of  you  to  come,  too,  Uncle 
John." 

And  John,  gazing  down  at  that  round,  dark  head, 
and  those  slim,  pretty,  white  shoulders,  answered: 

"Not  at  all — very  glad  to  get  a  breath  of  fresh 
air." 

And  he  stealthily  tightened  his  white  waistcoat— 
a  rite  neglected  of  late;  the  garment  seemed  to  him  at 
the  moment  unnecessarily  loose. 

"You  have  so  much  experience,  Uncle.  Do  you 
think  violent  rebellion  is  ever  justifiable?" 

"I  do  not." 

Nedda  sighed.  "I'm  glad  you  think  that,"  she 
murmured,  "because  I  don't  think  it  is,  either.  I  do 
so  want  you  to  like  Derek,  Uncle  John,  because — it's 
a  secret  from  nearly  every  one — he  and  I  are  en- 
gaged. " 

John  jerked  his  head  up  a  little,  as  though  he  had 
received  a  slight  blow.  The  news  was  not  palatable. 
He  kept  his  form,  however,  and  answered: 

"Oh!    Really!    Ah!" 

Nedda  said  still  more  softly:  "Please  don't  judge 


THE  FREELANDS  243 

him  by  the  other  night;  he  wasn't  very  nice  then,  I 
know. " 

John  cleared  his  throat. 

Instinct  warned  her  that  he  agreed,  and  she  said 
rather  sadly: 

"  You  see,  we're  both  awfully  young.  It  must  be 
splendid  to  have  experience. " 

Over  John's  face,  with  its  double  line  between  the 
brows,  its  double  line  in  the  thin  cheeks,  its  single 
firm  line  of  mouth  beneath  a  gray  moustache,  there 
passed  a  little  grimace. 

"As  to  being  young,"  he  said,  "that'll  change  for 
the — er — better  only  too  fast. " 

What  was  it  in  this  girl  that  reminded  him  of  that 
one  with  whom  he  had  lived  but  two  years,  and 
mourned  fifteen?  Was  it  her  youth?  Was  it  that 
quick  way  of  lifting  her  eyes,  and  looking  at  him 
with  such  clear  directness?  Or  the  way  her  hair 
grew  ?  Or  what  ? 

"  Do  you  like  the  people  here,  Uncle  John  ?  " 

The  question  caught  John,  as  it  were,  between 
wind  and  water.  Indeed,  all  her  queries  seemed  to 
be  trying  to  incite  him  to  those  wide  efforts  of  mind 
which  bring  into  use  the  philosophic  nerve;  and  it  was 
long  since  he  had  generalized  afresh  about  either 
things  or  people,  having  fallen  for  many  years  past 
into  the  habit  of  reaching  his  opinions  down  out  of 
some  pigeonhole  or  other.  To  generalize  was  a 
youthful  practice  that  one  took  off  as  one  takes  cer- 
tain garments  off  babies  when  they  come  to  years 
of  discretion.  But  since  he  seemed  to  be  in  for  it,  he 
answered  rather  shortly:  "Not  at  till." 


244  THE  FREELANDS 

Nedda  sighed  again. 

"Nor  do  I.    They  make  me  ashamed  of  myself." 

John,  whose  dislike  of  the  Bigwigs  was  that  of  the 
dogged  worker  of  this  life  for  the  dogged  talkers, 
wrinkled  his  brows : 

"How's  that?" 

"They  make  me  feel  as  if  I  were  part  of  something 
heavy  sitting  on  something  else,  and  all  the  time 
talking  about  how  to  make  things  lighter  for  the 
thing  it's  sitting  on." 

A  vague  recollection  of  somebody — some  writer, 
a  dangerous  one — having  said  something  of  this  sort 
flitted  through  John. 

"Do  you  think  England  is  done  for,  Uncle — I 
mean  about  'the  Land'?" 

In  spite  of  his  conviction  that  'the  country  was  in 
a  bad  way/  John  was  deeply,  intimately  shocked*" 
by  that  simple  little  question.  Done  for !  Never ! 
Whatever  might  be  happening  underneath,  there 
must  be  no  confession  of  that.  No!  the  country 
would  keep  its  form.  The  country  would  breathe 
through  its  nose,  even  if  it  did  lose  the  race.  It  must 
never  know,  or  let  others  know,  even  if  it  were  beaten. 
And  he  said: 

"What  on  earth  put  that  into  your  head?" 

"  Only  that  it  seems  funny,  if  we're  getting  richer 
and  richer,  and  yet  all  the  time  farther  and  farther 
away  from  the  life  that  every  one  agrees  is  the  best 
for  health  and  happiness.  Father  put  it  into  my 
head,  making  me  look  at  the  little,  towny  people  in 
Transham  this  afternoon.  I  know  I  mean  to  begin 
at  once  to  learn  about  farm  work." 


THE  FREELANDS  245 

"You?"  This  pretty  young  thing  with  the  dark 
head  and  the  pale,  slim  shoulders !  Farm  work ! 
Women  were  certainly  getting  queer.  In  his  de- 
partment he  had  almost  daily  evidence  of  that ! 

"  I  should  have  thought  art  was  more  in  your  line ! " 

Nedda  looked  up  at  him;  and  he  was  touched  by 
that  look,  so  straight  and  young. 

"It's  this.  I  don't  believe  Derek  will  be  able  to 
stay  in  England.  When  you  feel  very  strongly  about 
things  it  must  be  awfully  difficult  to. " 

In  bewilderment  John  answered: 

"Why!  I  should  have  said  this  was  the  country 
of  all  others  for  movements,  and  social  work,  and— 
and — cranks—  "  he  paused. 

"Yes;  but  those  are  all  for  curing  the  skin,  and  I 
suppose  we're  really  dying  of  heart  disease,  aren't  we  ? 
Derek  feels  that,  anyway,  and,  you  see,  he's  not  a  bit 
wise,  not  even  patient — so  I  expect  he'll  have  to  go. 
I  mean  to  be  ready,  anyway. " 

And  Nedda  got  up.  "Only,  if  he  does  something 
rash,  don't  let  them  hurt  him,  Uncle  John,  if  you  can 
help  it." 

John  felt  her  soft  ringers  squeezing  his  almost  des- 
perately, as  if  her  emotions  had  for  the  moment  got 
out  of  hand.  And  he  was  moved,  though  he  knew  that 
the  squeeze  expressed  feeling  for  his  nephew,  not  for 
himself.  When  she  slid  away  out  of  the  big  room  all 
f riendliness  seemed  to  go  out  with  her,  and  very  soon 
after  he  himself  slipped  away  to  the  smoking-room. 
There  he  was  alone,  and,  lighting  a  cigar,  because  he 
still  had  on  his  long- tailed  coat  which  did  not  go  with 


246  THE  FREELANDS 

that  pipe  he  would  so  much  have  preferred,  he 
stepped  out  of  the  French  window  into  the  warm, 
dark  night.  He  walked  slowly  in  his  evening  pumps 
up  a  thin  path  between  columbines  and  peonies,  late 
tulips,  forget-me-nots,  and  pansies  peering  up  in  the 
dark  with  queer,  monkey  faces.  He  had  a  love  for 
flowers,  rather  starved  for  a  long  time  past,  and, 
strangely,  liked  to  see  them,  not  in  the  set  and  orderly 
masses  that  should  seemingly  have  gone  with  his 
character,  but  in  wilder  beds,  where  one  never  knew 
what  flower  was  coming  next.  Once  or  twice  he 
stopped  and  bent  down,  ascertaining  which  kind  it 
was,  living  its  little  life  down  there,  then  passed  on  in 
that  mood  of  stammering  thought  which  besets  men 
of  middle  age  who  walk  at  night — a  mood  caught 
between  memory  of  aspirations  spun  and  over,  and 
vision  of  aspirations  that  refuse  to  take  shape.  Why 
should  they,  any  more — what  was  the  use?  And 
turning  down  another  path  he  came  on  something 
rather  taller  than  himself,  that  glowed  in  the  dark- 
ness as  though  a  great  moon,  or  some  white  round 
body,  had  floated  to  within  a  few  feet  of  the  earth. 
Approaching,  he  saw  it  for  what  it  was — a  little  mag- 
nolia-tree in  the  full  of  its  white  blossoms.  Those 
clustering  flower-stars,  printed  before  him  on  the 
dark  coat  of  the  night,  produced  in  John  more  feeling 
than  should  have  been  caused  by  a  mere  magnolia- 
tree;  and  he  smoked  somewhat  furiously.  Beauty, 
seeking  whom  it  should  upset,  seemed,  like  a  girl,  to 
stretch  out  arms  and  say:  "I  am  here !"  And  with 
a  pang  at  heart,  and  a  long  ash  on  his  cigar,  between 


THE  FREELANDS  247 

lips  that  quivered  oddly,  John  turned  on  his  heel  and 
retraced  his  footsteps  to  the  smoking-room.  It  was 
still  deserted.  Taking  up  a  Reviewy  he  opened  it  at 
an  article  on  '  the  Land, '  and,  fixing  his  eyes  on  the 
first  page,  did  not  read  it,  but  thought:  'That  child ! 
What  foUy !  Engaged !  H'm !  To  that  young— ! 
Why,  they're  babes !  And  what  is  it  about  her  that 
reminds  me — reminds  me —  What  is  it?  Lucky 
devil,  Felix — to  have  her  for  daughter !  Engaged ! 
The  little  thing's  got  her  troubles  before  her.  Wish 
/  had !  By  George,  yes — wish  I  had ! '  And  with 
careful  fingers  he  brushed  off  the  ash  that  had  fallen 
on  his  lapel.  .  .  . 

The  little  thing  who  had  her  troubles  before  her, 
sitting  in  her  bedroom  window,  had  watched  his 
white  front  and  the  glowing  point  of  his  cigar  passing 
down  there  in  the  dark,  and,  though  she  did  not  know 
that  they  befogged  to  him,  had  thought:  ' There's 
some  one  nice,  a8^way,"^ho  likes  being  out  instead 
of  in  that  stuffy  drawing-room,  playing  bridge,  and 
talking,  talking. '  Then  she  felt  ashamed  of  her  un- 
charitableness.  After  all,  it  was  wrong  to  think  of 
them  like  that.  They  did  it  for  rest  after  all  their 
hard  work;  and  she — she  did  not  work  at  all !  .If 
only  Aunt  Kirsteen  would  let  her  stay  at  Joyfields, 
and  teach  her  all  that  Sheila  knew !  And  lighting  her 
candles,  she  opened  her  diary  to  write. 

"Life,"  she  wrote,  "is  like  looking  at  the  night. 
One  never  knows  what's  coming,  only  suspects,  as  in 
the  darkness  you  suspect  which  trees  are  what,  and 
try  to  see  whether  you  are  coming  to  the  edge  of  any- 


248  THE  FREELANDS 

thing.  ...  A  moth  has  just  flown  into  my  candle 
before  I  could  stop  it !  Has  it  gone  quite  out  of  the 
world?  If  so,  why  should  it  be  different  for  us? 
The  same  great  Something  makes  all  life  and  death, 
all  light  and  dark-,  all  love  and  hate — then  why  one 
fate  for  one  living  thing,  and  the  opposite  for  an- 
other? But  suppose  there  is  nothing  after  death — 
would  it  make  me  say:  'I'd  rather  not  live7?  It 
would  only  make  me  delight  more  in  life  of  every 
kind.  Only  human  beings  brood  and  are  discon- 
tented, and  trouble  about  future  life.  While  Derek 
and  I  were  sitting  in  that  field  this  morning,  a  bum- 
blebee flew  to  the  bank  and  tucked  its  head  into  the 
grass  and  went  to  sleep,  just  tired  out  with  flying 
and  working  at  its  flowers;  it  simply  snoozed  its  head 
down  and  went  off.  We  ought  to  live  every  minute 
to  the  utmost,  and  when  we're  tired  out,  tuck  in  our 
heads  and  sleep.  ...  If  only  Derek  is  not  brooding 
over  that  poor  man !  Poor  man — all  alone  in  the 
dark,  with  months  of  misery  before  him !  Poor 
soul !  Oh !  I  am  sorry  for  all  the  unhappiness  of 
people !  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it.  I  simply  can't. " 
And  dropping  her  pen,  Nedda  went  again  to  her  win- 
dow and  leaned  out.  So  sweet  the  air  smelled  that 
it  made  her  ache  with  delight  to  breathe  it  in.  Each 
leaf  that  lived  out  there,  each  flower,  each  blade  of 
grass,  were  sworn  to  conspiracy  of  perfume.  And 
she  thought:  'They  must  all  love  each  other;  it  all 
goes  together  so  beautifully ! '  Then,  mingled  with 
the  incense  of  the  night,  she  caught  the  savor  of  wood- 
smoke.  It  seemed  to  make  the  whole  scent  even 


THE  FREELANDS  249 

more  delicious,  but  she  thought,  bewildered : '  Smoke ! 
Cruel  fire — burning  the  wood  that  once  grew  leaves 
like  those.  Oh !  it  is  so  mixed ! '  It  was  a  thought 
others  have  had  before  her. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

To  see  for  himself  how  it  fared  with  the  big  laborer 
at  the  hands  of  Preliminary  Justice,  Felix  went  into 
Transham  with  Stanley  the  following  morning. 
John  having  departed  early  for  town,  the  brothers 
had  not  further  exchanged  sentiments  on  the  subject 
of  what  Stanley  called  'the  kick-up  at  Joyfields. ' 
And  just  as  night  will  sometimes  disperse  the  brood- 
ing moods  of  nature,  so  it  had  brought  to  all  three 
the  feeling:  l Haven't  we  made  too  much  of  this? 
Haven't  we  been  a  little  extravagant,  and  aren't  we 
rather  bored  with  the  whole  subject?'  Arson  was 
arson;  a  man  in  prison  more  or  less  was  a  man  in 
prison  more  or  less !  This  was  especially  Stanley's 
view,  and  he  took  the  opportunity  to  say  to  Felix: 
"Look  here,  old  man,  the  thing  is,  of  course,  to  see 
it  in  proportion. " 

It  was  with  this  intention,  therefore,  that  Felix 
entered  the  building  where  the  justice  of  that  neigh- 
borhood was  customarily  dispensed.  It  was  a  species 
of  small  hall,  somewhat  resembling  a  chapel,  with 
distempered  walls,  a  platform,  and  benches  for  the 
public,  rather  well  filled  that  morning — testimony 
to  the  stir  the  little  affair  had  made.  Felix,  familiar 
with  the  appearance  of  London  police  courts,  noted 
the  efforts  that  had  been  made  to  create  resemblance 

250 


THE  FREELANDS  251 

to  those  models  of  administration.  The  justices 
of  the  peace,  hastily  convoked  and  four  in  number, 
sat  on  the  platform,  with  a  semicircular  backing  of 
high  gray  screens  and  a  green  baize  barrier  in  front 
of  them,  so  that  their  legs  and  feet  were  quite  invisi- 
ble. In  this  way  had  been  preserved  the  really 
essential  feature  of  all  human  justice — at  whose  feet 
it  is  well  known  one  must  not  look !  Their  faces, 
on  the  contrary,  were  entirely  exposed  to  view,  and 
presented  that  pleasing  variety  of  type  and  unanimity 
of  expression  peculiar  to  men  keeping  an  open  mind. 
Below  them,  with  his  face  toward  the  public,  was 
placed  a  gray-bearded  man  at  a  table  also  covered 
with  green  baize,  that  emblem  of  authority.  And 
to  the  side,  at  right  angles,  raised  into  the  air,  sat  a 
little  terrier  of  a  man,  with  gingery,  wired  hair,  ob- 
viously the  more-  articulate  soul  of  these  proceedings. 
As  Felix  sat  down  to  worship,  he  noticed  Mr.  Pogram 
at  the  green  baize  table,  and  received  from  the  little 
man  a  nod  and  the  faintest  whiff  of  lavender  and 
gutta-percha.  The  next  moment  he  caught  sight  of 
Derek  and  Sheila,  screwed  sideways  against  one  of  the 
distempered  walls,  looking,  with  their  frowning  faces, 
for  all  the  world  like  two  young  devils  just  turned  out 
of  hell.  They  did  not  greet  him,  and  Felix  set  to 
work  to  study  the  visages  of  Justice.  They  im- 
pressed him,  on  the  whole,  more  favorably  than  he 
had  expected.  The  one  to  his  extreme  left,  with  a 
gray-whiskered  face,  was  like  a  large  and  sleepy  cat 
of  mature  age,  who  moved  not,  except  to  write  a  word 
now  and  then  on  the  paper  before  him,  or  to  hand 


252  THE  FREELANDS 

back  a  document.  Next  to  him,  a  man  of  middle  age 
with  bald  forehead  and  dark,  intelligent  eyes  seemed 
conscious  now  and  again  of  the  body  of  the  court, 
and  Felix  thought:  '  You  have  not  been  a  magistrate 
long. '  The  chairman,  who  sat  next,  with  the  mous- 
tache of  a  heavy  dragoon  and  gray  hair  parted  in  the 
middle,  seemed,  on  the  other  hand,  oblivious  of  the 
public,  never  once  looking  at  them,  and  speaking  so 
that  they  could  not  hear  him,  and  Felix  thought: 
'You  have  been  a  magistrate  too  long.'  Between 
him  and  the  terrier  man,  the  last  of  the  four  wrote 
diligently,  below  a  clean,  red  face  with  clipped  white 
moustache  and  little  peaked  beard.  And  Felix 
thought:  l Retired  naval!'  Then  he  saw  that  they 
were  bringing  in  Tryst.  The  big  laborer  advanced 
between  two  constables,  his  broad,  unshaven  face 
held  high,  and  his  lowering  eyes,  through  which  his 
strange  and  tragical  soul  seemed  looking,  turned 
this  way  and  that.  Felix,  who,  no  more  than  any 
one  else,  could  keep  his  gaze  off  the  trapped  creature, 
felt  again  all  the  sensations  of  the  previous  afternoon. 
"Guilty?  or,  Not  guilty?"  As  if  repeating  some- 
thing learned  by  heart,  Tryst  answered:  "Not  guilty, 
sir. "  And  his  big  hands,  at  his  sides,  kept  clenching 
and  unclenching.  The  witnesses,  four  in  number, 
began  now  to  give  their  testimony.  A  sergeant  of 
police  recounted  how  he  had  been  first  summoned  to 
the  scene  of  burning,  and  afterward  arrested  Tryst; 
Sir  Gerald's  agent  described  the  eviction  and  threats 
uttered  by  the  evicted  man;  two  persons,  a  stone- 
breaker  and  a  tramp,  narrated  that  they  had  seen 


THE  FREELANDS  253 

him  going  in  the  direction  of  the  rick  and  barn  at 
five  o'clock,  and  coming  away  therefrom  at  five- 
fifteen.  Punctuated  by  the  barking  of  the  terrier 
clerk,  all  this  took  time,  during  which  there  passed 
through  Felix  many  thoughts.  Here  was  a  man  who 
had  done  a  wicked,  because  an  antisocial,  act;  the 
sort  of  act  no  sane  person  could  defend;  an  act  so 
barbarous,  stupid,  and  unnatural  that  the  very  beasts 
of  the  field  would  turn  noses  away  from  it !  How  was 
it,  then,  that  he  himself  could  not  feel  incensed? 
Was  it  that  in  habitually  delving  into  the  motives  of 
men's  actions  he  had  lost  the  power  of  dissociating 
what  a  man  did  from  what  he  was;  had  come  to  see 
him,  with  his  thoughts,  deeds,  and  omissions,  as  a 
coherent  growth?  And  he  looked  at  Tryst.  The 
big  laborer  was  staring  with  all  his  soul  at  Derek. 
And,  suddenly,  he  saw  his  nephew  stand  up — tilt  his 
dark  head  back  against  the  wall — and  open  his  mouth 
to  speak.  In  sheer  alarm  Felix  touched  Mr.  Pogram 
on  the  arm.  The  little  square  man  had  already 
turned;  he  looked  at  that  moment  extremely  like  a 
frog. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  wish  to  say " 

"Who  are  you?  Sit  down!"  It  was  the  chair- 
man, speaking  for  the  first  time  in  a  voice  that  could 
be  heard. 

"I  wish  to  say  that  he  is  not  responsible.     I 

"Silence!     Silence,  sir!     Sit  down!" 
Felix  saw  his  nephew  waver,  and  Sheila  pulling  at 
his  sleeve;  then,  to  his  infinite  relief,  the  boy  sat 
down.     His  sallow  face  was  red;  his  thin  lips  com- 


254  THE  FREELANDS 

pressed  to  a  white  line.  And  slowly  under  the  eyes 
of  the  whole  court  he  grew  deadly  pale. 

Distracted  by  fear  that  the  boy  might  make  an- 
other scene,  Felix  followed  the  proceedings  vaguely. 
They  were  over  soon  enough:  Tryst  committed,  de- 
fence reserved,  bail  refused — all  as  Mr.  Pogram  had 
predicted. 

Derek  and  Sheila  had  vanished,  and  in  the  street 
outside,  idle  at  this  hour  of  a  working-day,  were  only 
the  cars  of  the  four  magistrates;  two  or  three  little 
knots  of  those  who  had  been  in  court,  talking  of  the 
case;  and  in  the  very  centre  of  the  street,  an  old, 
dark-whiskered  man,  lame,  and  leaning  on  a  stick. 

"Very  nearly  being  awkward,"  said  the  voice  of 
Mr.  Pogram  hi  his  ear.  "I  say,  do  you  think — no 
hand  himself,  surely  no  real  hand  himself?" 

Felix  shook  his  head  violently.  If  the  thought  had 
once  or  twice  occurred  to  him,  he  repudiated  it  with 
all  his  force  when  shaped  by  another's  mouth — and 
such  a  mouth,  so  wide  and  rubbery ! 

"No,  no!  Strange  boy!  Extravagant  sense  of 
honour — too  sensitive,  that's  all!" 

"Quite  so,"  murmured  Mr.  Pogram  soothingly. 
"These  young  people !  We  live  in  a  queer  age,  Mr. 
Freeland.  All  sorts  of  ideas  about,  nowadays. 
Young  men  like  that — better  in  the  army — safe 
in  the  army.  No  ideas  there*! " 

"What  happens  now?"  said  Felix. 

"Wait ! "  said  Mr.  Pogram.  "  Nothing  else  for  it- 
wait.  Three  months — twiddle  his  thumbs.  Bad 
system!  Rotten!" 

"And  suppose  in  the  end  he's  proved  innocent?" 


THE  FREELANDS  255 

Mr.  Pogram  shook  his  little  round  head,  whose 
ears  were  very  red. 

"Ah!"  he  said:  "Often  say  to  my  wife:  'Wish  I 
weren't  a  humanitarian!'  Heart  of  india-rubber — 
excellent  thing — the  greatest  blessing.  Well,  good- 
morning  !  Anything  you  want  to  say  at  any  time, 
let  me  know ! "  And  exhaling  an  overpowering  whiff 
of  gutta-percha,  he  grasped  Felix's  hand  and  passed 
into  a  house  on  the  door  of  which  was  printed  in 
brazen  letters:  "Edward  Pogram,  James  Collet.  So- 
licitors. Agents." 

On  leaving  the  little  humanitarian,  Felix  drifted 
back  toward  the  court.  The  cars  were  gone,  the 
groups  dispersed;  alone,  leaning  on  his  stick,  the 
old,  dark-whiskered  man  stood  like  a  jackdaw  with  a 
broken  wing.  Yearning,  at  that  moment,  for  human 
intercourse,  Felix  went  up  to  him. 

"  Fine  day, "  he  said. 

"Yes,  sir,  'tis  fine  enough."  And  they  stood 
silent,  side  by  side.  The  gulf  fixed  by  class  and  habit 
between  soul  and  human  soul  yawned  before  Felix  as 
it  had  never  before.  Stirred  and  troubled,  he  longed 
to  open  his  heart  to  this  old,  ragged,  dark-eyed, 
whiskered  creature  with  the  game  leg,  who  looked 
as  if  he  had  passed  through  all  the  thorns  and  thickets 
of  hard  and  primitive  existence;  he  longed  that  the  old 
fellow  should  lay  bare  to  him  his  heart.  And  for  the 
life  of  him  he  could  not  think  of  any  mortal  words 
which  might  bridge  the  unreal  gulf  between  them. 
At  last  he  said: 

"You  a  native  here?" 

"No,  sir.     From  over  Malverji  way.    Livin'  here 


256  THE  FREELANDS 

with  my  darter,  owin'  to  my  leg.    Her  'usband  works 
in  this  here  factory." 

"And  I'm  from  London,  "  Felix  said. 

"Thart  you  were.  Fine  place,  London,  they 
say!" 

Felix  shook  his  head.  "Not  so  fine  as  this 
Worcestershire  of  yours." 

The  old  man  turned  his  quick,  dark  gaze.  ' '  Aye ! ' ' 
he  said,  "people'll  be  a  bit  nervy-like  in  towns,  nowa- 
days. The  country  be  a  good  place  for  a  healthy 
man,  too;  I  don't  want  no  better  place  than  the  coun- 
try— never  could  abide  bein'  shut  in." 

"There  aren't  so  very  many  like  you,  judging  by 
the  towns." 

The  old  man  smiled — that  smile  was  the  reverse  of 
a  bitter  tonic  coated  with  sweet  stuff  to  make  it 
palatable. 

"'Tes  the  want  of  a  life  takes  'em,"  he  said. 
"There's  not  a  many  like  me.  There's  not  so  many 
as  can't  do  without  the  smell  of  the  earth.  With 
these  'ere  newspapers — 'tesn't  taught  nowadays. 
The  boys  and  gells  they  goes  to  school,  and  'tes  all  hi 
favor  of  the  towns  there.  I  can't  work  no  more; 
I'm  's  good  as  gone  meself ;  but  I  feel  sometimes  I'll 
'ave  to  go  back.  I  don't  like  the  streets,  an'  I  guess 
'tes  worse  in  London. " 

"Ah!  Perhaps,  "  Felix  said,  "there  are  more  of 
us  like  you  than  you  think. " 

Again  the  old  man  turned  his  dark,  quick  glance. 

"Well,  an'  I  widden  say  no  to  that,  neither.     I've 

seen  'em  terrible  homesick.    'Tes  certain  sure  there's 


THE  FREELANDS  257 

lots  would  never  go,  ef  'twasn't  so  mortial  hard  on  the 
land.  'Tisn't  a  bare  livin',  after  that.  An'  they're 
put  upon,  right  and  left  they're  put  upon.  'Tes 
only  a  man  here  and  there  that  'as  something  in  'im 
too  strong.  I  widden  never  'ave  stayed  in  the  coun- 
try ef  'twasn't  that  I  couldn't  stand  the  town  life. 
'Tes  like  some  breeds  o'  cattle — you  take  an'  put  'em 
out  o'  their  own  country,  an'  you  'ave  to  take  an' 
put  'em  back  again.  Only  some  breeds,  though. 
Others  they  don'  mind  where  they  go.  Well,  I've 
seen  the  country  pass  in  my  time,  as  you  might  say; 
where  you  used  to  see  three  men  you  only  see  one 
now. " 

"Are  they  ever  going  back  onto  the  land?" 

"They  tark  about  it.  I  read  my  newspaper  reg'- 
lar.  In  some  places  I  see  they're  makin'  unions. 
That  an't  no  good." 

"Why?" 

The  old  man  smiled  again. 

"Why!  Think  of  it!  The  land's  different  to 
anythin'  else — that's  why !  Different  work,  different 
hours,  four  men's  work  to-day  and  one's  to-morrow. 
Work  land  wi'  unions,  same  as  they've  got  in  this  'ere 
factory,  wi'  their  eight  hours  an'  their  do  this  an'  don' 
do  that  ?  No !  You've  got  no  weather  in  factories, 
an'  such-like.  On  the  land  'tes  a  matter  o'  weather. 
On  the  land  a  man  must  be  ready  for  anythin'  at  any 
time;  you  can't  work  it  no  other  way.  'Tes  along  o' 
God's  comin'  into  it;  an'  no  use  pullin'  this  way  an' 
that.  Union  says  to  me:  You  mustn't  work  after 
hours.  Hoh !  I've  'ad  to  set  up  all  night  wi'  ship  an' 


258  THE  FREELANDS 

cattle  hundreds  o'  times,  an'  no  extra  for  it.  'Tes 
not  that  way  they'll  do  any  good  to  keep  people  on 
the  land.  Oh,  no!" 

"How,  then?" 

"Well,  you'll  want  new  laws,  o'  course,  to  prevent 
farmers  an'  landowners  takin'  their  advantage;  you 
want  laws  to  build  new  cottages;  but  mainly  'tes  a 
case  of  hands  together;  can't  be  no  other — the  land's 
so  ticklish.  If  'tesn't  hands  together,  'tes  nothing. 
I  'ad  a  master  once  that  was  never  content  so  long's 
we  wasn't  content.  That  farm  was  better  worked 
than  any  in  the  parish. " 

"Yes,  but  the  difficulty  is  to  get  masters  that  can 
see  the  other  side;  a  man  doesn't  care  much  to  look  at 
home." 

The  old  man's  dark  eyes  twinkled. 
'No;  an'  when  'e  does,  'tes  generally  to  say:  'Lord, 
an't  I  right,  an'  an't  they  wrong,  just?'    That's 
powerful  customary!" 

" It  is, "  said  Felix;  "  God  bless  us  all ! " 

"  Ah !  You  may  well  say  that,  sir;  an'  we  want  it, 
too.  A  bit  more  wages  wouldn't  come  amiss,  neither. 
An'  a  bit  more  freedom;  'tes  a  man's  liberty  'e  prizes 
as  well  as  money." 

"  Did  you  hear  about  this  arson  case?" 

The  old  man  cast  a  glance  this  way  and  that  before 
he  answered  in  a  lower  voice: 

"They  say  'e  was  put  out  of  his  cottage.  I've 
seen  men  put  out  for  votin'  Liberal;  I've  seen  'em 
put  out  for  f ree-thinkin' ;  all  sorts  o'  things  I  seen 
'em  put  out  for.  JTes  that  makes  the  badblood.  A 


THE  FREELANDS  259 

man  wants  to  call  'is  soul  'is  own,  when  all's  said  an* 
done.  An'  'e  can't,  not  in  th'  old  country,  unless  'e's 
got  the  dibs." 

"And  yet  you  never  thought  of  emigrating?" 

"Thart  of  it— ah!  thart  of  it  hundreds  o'  times; 
but  some'ow  cudden  never  bring  mysel'  to  the  scratch 
o'  not  seein'  th'  Beacon  any  more.  I  can  just  see  it 
from  'ere,  you  know.  But  there's  not  so  many  like 
me,  an'  gettin'  fewer  every  day." 

"Yes,"  murmured  Felix,  "that  I  believe." 

"  'Tes  a  'and-made  piece  o'  goods — the  land ! 
You  has  to  be  fond  of  it,  same  as  of  your  missis  and 
yer  chillen.  These  poor  pitiful  fellows  that's  workin' 
in  this  factory,  makin'  these  here  Colonial  ploughs 
—union's  all  right  for  them — 'tes  all  mechanical;  but 
a  man  on  the  land,  'e's  got  to  put  the  land  first, 
whether  'tes  his  own  or  some  one  else's,  or  he'll  never 
do  no  good;  might  as  well  go  for  a  postman,  any  day. 
I'm  keepin'  of  you,  though,  with  my  tattle !" 

In  truth,  Felix  had  looked  at  the  old  man,  for  the 
accursed  question  had  begun  to  worry  him:  Ought 
he  or  not  to  give  the  lame  old  fellow  something? 
Would  it  hurt  his  feelings?  Why  could  he  not  say 
simply: ' Friend,  I'm  better  off  than  you;  help  me  not 
to  feel  so  unfairly  favored '  ?  Perhaps  he  might  risk 
it.  And,  diving  into  his  trousers  pockets,  he  watched 
the  old  man's  eyes.  If  they  followed  his  hand,  he 
would  risk  it.  But  they  did  not.  Withdrawing 
his  hand,  he  said: 

"Have  a  cigar?" 

The  old  fellow's  dark  face  twinkled. 


26o  THE  FREELANDS 

"I  don'  know,"  he  said,  "as  I  ever  smoked  one; 
but  I  can  have  a  darned  old  try !" 

"Take  the  lot,"  said  Felix,  and  shuffled  into  the 
other's  pocket  the  contents  of  his  cigar-case.  "If 
you  get  through  one,  you'll  want  the  rest.  They're 
pretty  good. " 

"Ah!"  said  the  old  man.  "Shuldn'  wonder, 
neither." 

"  Good-by.     I  hope  your  leg  will  soon  be  better. " 

"Thank  'ee,  sir.     Good-by,  thank  'ee !" 

Looking  back  from  the  turning,  Felix  saw  him  still 
standing  there  in  the  middle  of  the  empty  street. 

Having  undertaken  to  meet  his  mother,  who  was 
returning  this  afternoon  to  Becket,  he  had  still  two 
hours  to  put  away,  and  passing  Mr.  Pogram's  house, 
he  turned  into  a  path  across  a  clover-field  and  sat 
down  on  a  stile.  He  had  many  thoughts,  sitting  at 
the  foot  of  this  little  town — which  his  great-grand- 
father had  brought  about.  And  chiefly  he  thought 
of  the  old  man  he  had  been  talking  to,  sent  there,  as 
it  seemed  to  him,  by  Providence,  to  afford  a  proto- 
type for  his  'The  Last  of  the  Laborers. '  Wonderful 
that  the  old  fellow  should  talk  of  loving  '  the  Land,' 
whereon  he  must  have  toiled  for  sixty  years  or  so,  at  a 
number  of  shillings  per  week,  that  would  certainly 
not  buy  the  cigars  he  had  shovelled  into  that  ragged 
pocket.  Wonderful !  And  yet,  a  marvellous  sweet 
thing,  when  all  was  said — this  land !  Changing  its 
sheen  and  texture,  the  feel  of  its  air,  its  very  scent, 
from  day  to  day.  This  land  with  myriad  offspring 
of  flowers  and  flying  folk;  the  majestic  and  untiring 


THE  FREELANDS  261 

march  of  seasons:  Spring  and  its  wistful  ecstasy^of 
saplings,  and  its  yearning,  wild,  wind-loosened  heart; 
gleam  and  song,  blossom  and  cloud,  and  the  swift 
white  rain;  each  upturned  leaf  so  little  and  so  glad  to 
flutter;  each  wood  and  field  so  full  of  peeping  things ! 
Summer !  Ah !  Summer,  when  on  the  solemn  old 
trees  the  long  days  shone  and  lingered,  and  the  glory 
of  the  meadows  and  the  murmur  of  life  and  the  scent 
of  flowers  bewildered  tranquillity,  till  surcharge  of 
warmth  and  beauty  brooded  into  dark  passion,  and 
broke !  And  Autumn,  in  mellow  haze  down  on  the 
fields  and  woods;  smears  of  gold  already  on  the 
beeches,  smears  of  crimson  on  the  rowans,  the  apple- 
trees  still  burdened,  and  a  flax-blue  sky  well-nigh 
merging  with  the  misty  air;  the  cattle  browsing  in 
the  lingering  golden  stillness;  not  a  breath  to  fan  the 
blue  smoke  of  the  weed-fires — and  in  the  fields  no  one 
moving — who  would  disturb  such  mellow  peace? 
And  Winter !  The  long  spaces,  the  long  dark;  and 
yet — and  yet,  what  delicate  loveliness  of  twig  tracery; 
what  blur  of  rose  and  brown  and  purple  caught  in  the 
bare  boughs  and  in  the  early  sunset  sky !  What 
sharp  dark  flights  of  birds  in  the  gray-white  firma- 
ment !  Who  cared  what  season  held  in  its  arms  this 
land  that  had  bred  them  all ! 

Not  wonderful  that  into  the  veins  of  those  who 
nursed  it,  tending,  watching  its  perpetual  fertility, 
should  be  distilled  a  love  so  deep  and  subtle  that 
they  could  not  bear  to  leave  it,  to  abandon  its  hills, 
and  greenness,  and  bird-songs,  and  all  the  impress  of 
their  forefathers  throughout  the  ages. 


262  THE  FREELANDS 

Like  so  many  of  his  fellows — cultured  moderns, 
alien  to  the  larger  forms  of  patriotism,  that  rich  liquor 
brewed  of  maps  and  figures,  commercial  profit,  and 
high-cockalorum,  which  served  so  perfectly  to  swell 
smaller  heads — Felix  had  a  love  of  his  native  land 
resembling  love  for  a  woman,  a  kind  of  sensuous 
chivalry,  a  passion  based  on  her  charm,  on  her  tran- 
quillity, on  the  power  she  had  to  draw  him  into  her 
embrace,  to  make  him  feel  that  he  had  come  from  her, 
from  her  alone,  and  into  her  alone  was  going  back. 
And  this  green  parcel  of  his  native  land,  from  which 
the  half  of  his  blood  came,  and  that  the  dearest  half, 
had  a  potency  over  his  spirit  that  he  might  well  be 
ashamed  of  in  days  when  the  true  Briton  was  a  town- 
bred  creature  with  a  foot  of  fancy  in  all  four  corners 
of  the  globe.  There  was  ever  to  him  a  special  flavor 
about  the  elm-girt  fields,  the  flowery  coppices,  of  this 
country  of  the  old  Moretons,  a  special  fascination 
in  its  full,  white-clouded  skies,  its  grass-edged  roads, 
its  pied  and  creamy  cattle,  and  the  blue-green  loom 
of  the  Malvern  hills.  If  God  walked  anywhere  for 
him,  it  was  surely  here.  Sentiment !  Without  sen- 
timent, without  that  love,  each  for  his  own  corner, 
'the  Land'  was  lost  indeed !  Not  if  all  Becket  blew 
trumpets  till  kingdom  came,  would  'the  Land'  be 
reformed,  if  they  lost  sight  of  that !  To  fortify  men 
in  love  for  their  motherland,  to  see  that  insecurity, 
grinding  poverty,  interference,  petty  tyranny,  could 
no  longer  undermine  that  love — this  was  to  be,  surely 
must  be,  done!  Monotony?  Was  that  cry  true? 
What  work  now  performed  by  humble  men  was  less 


THE  FREELAXDS  263 

monotonous  than  work  on  the  land?  What  work 
was  even  a  tenth  part  so  varied?  Never  quite  the 
same  from  day  to  day:  Now  weeding,  now  hay,  now 
roots,  now  hedging;  now  corn,  with  sowing,  reaping, 
threshing,  stacking,  thatching;  the  care  of  beasts, 
and  their  companionship;  sheep-dipping,  shearing, 
wood-gathering,  apple-picking,  cider-making;  fashion- 
ing and  tarring  gates:  whitewashing  walls;  carting; 
trenching — never,  never  two  days  quite  the  same! 
Monotony !  The  poor  devils  in  factories,  in  shops, 
in  mines;  poor  devils  driving  'busses,  punching 
tickets,  cleaning  roads;  baking;  cooking;  sewing; 
typing!  Stokers;  machine-tenders;  brick-layers; 
dockers:  clerks!  Ah!  that  great  company  from 
towns  might  well  cry  out:  Monotony!  True,  they 
got  their  holidays;  true,  they  had  more  social  life — 
a  point  that  might  well  be  raised  at  Becket:  Holi- 
days and  social  life  for  men  on  the  soil !  But — and 
suddenly  Felix  thought  of  the  long,  long  holiday 
that  was  before  the  laborer  Tryst.  'Twiddle  his 
thumbs7 — in  the  words  of  the  little  humanitarian — 
twiddle  his  thumbs  in  a  space  twelve  feet  by  seven ! 
Xo  sky  to  see,  no  grass  to  smell,  no  beast  to  bear  him 
company;  no  anything — for,  what  resources  in  him 
self  had  this  poor  creature?  Xo  anything,  but  to 
sit  with  tragic  eyes  fixed  on  the  wall  before  him  for 
eighty  days  and  eighty  nights,  before  they  tried  him. 
And  then — not  till  then — would  his  punishment  for 
that  moment's  blind  revenge  for  grievous  wrong 
begin !  What  on  this  earth  of  God's  was  more  dis- 
proportioned,  and  wickedly  extravagant,  more  crassly 


264  THE  FREELANDS 

stupid,  than  the  arrangements  of  his  most  perfect 
creature,  man?  What  a  devil  was  man,  who  could 
yet  rise  to  such  sublime  heights  of  love  and  heroism ! 
What  a  ferocious  brute,  the  most  ferocious  and  cold- 
blooded brute  that  lived !  Of  all  creatures  most  to 
be  stampeded  by  fear  into  a  callous  torturer !  ' Fear' 
—thought  Felix — 'fear!  Not  momentary  panic, 
such  as  makes  our  brother  animals  do  foolish  things; 
conscious,  calculating  fear,  paralyzing  the  reason  of 
our  minds  and  the  generosity  of  our  hearts.  A  de- 
testable thing  Tryst  has  done,  a  hateful  act;  but  his 
punishment  will  be  twentyf old  as  hateful ! ' 

And,  unable  to  sit  and  think  of  it,  Felix  rose  and 
walked  on  through  the  fields.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XXV 

HE  was  duly  at  Transham  station  in  time  for  the 
London  train,  and,  after  a  minute  consecrated  to 
looking  in  the  wrong  direction,  he  saw  his  mother  al- 
ready on  the  platform  with  her  bag,  an  air-cushion, 
and  a  beautifully  neat  roll. 

'  Travelling  third ! '  he  thought.  '  Why  will  she  do 
these  things  ? ' 

Slightly  flushed,  she  kissed  Felix  with  an  air  of 
abstraction. 

"How  good  of  you  to  meet  me,  darling!" 

Felix  pointed  in  silence  to  the  crowded  carriage 
from  which  she  had  emerged.  Frances  Freeland 
looked  a  little  rueful.  "It  would  have  been  delight- 
ful, "  she  said.  "  There  was  a  dear  baby  there  and,  of 
course,  I  couldn't  have  the  window  down,  so  it  was 
rather  hot. " 

Felix,  who  could  just  see  the  dear  baby,  said  dryly: 

"So  that's  how  you  go  about,  is  it?  Have  you 
had  any  lunch?" 

Frances  Freeland  put  her  hand  under  his  arm. 
"Now,  don't  fuss,  darling!  Here's  sixpence  for  the 
porter.  There's  only  one  trunk — it's  got  a  violet 
label.  Do  you  know  them?  They're  so  useful. 
You  see  them  at  once.  I  must  get  you  some. " 

"Let  me  take  those  things.  You  won't  want  this 
cushion.  I'll  let  the  air  out." 

265 


266  THE  FREELANDS 

"I'm  afraid  you  won't  be  able,  dear.  It's  quite 
the  best  screw  I've  ever  come  across — a  splendid 
thing;  I  can't  get  it  undone." 

"Ah I"  said  Felix.  "And  now  we  may  as  well  go 
out  to  the  car!" 

He  was  conscious  of  a  slight  stoppage  in  his 
mother's  footsteps  and  rather  a  convulsive  squeeze 
of  her  hand  on  his  arm.  Looking  at  her  face,  he  dis- 
covered it  occupied  with  a  process  whose  secret  he 
could  not  penetrate,  a  kind  of  disarray  of  her  features, 
rapidly  and  severely  checked,  and  capped  with  a 
resolute  smile.  They  had  already  reached  the  sta- 
tion exit,  where  Stanley's  car  was  snorting.  Fran- 
ces Freeland  looked  at  it,  then,  mounting  rather 
hastily,  sat,  compressing  her  lips. 

When  they  were  off,  Felix  said: 

"Would  you  like  to  stop  at  the  church  and  have  a 
look  at  the  brasses  to  your  grandfather  and  the  rest 
of  them?" 

His  mother,  who  had  slipped  her  hand  under  his 
arm  again,  answered: 

"No,  dear;  I've  seen  them.  The  church  is  not  at 
all  beautiful.  I  like  the  old  church  at  Becket  so 
much  better;  it  is  such  a  pity  your  great-grandfather 
was  not  buried  there. " 

She  had  never  quite  got  over  the  lack  of  'niceness' 
about  those  ploughs. 

Going,  as  was  the  habit  of  Stanley's  car,  at  con- 
siderable speed,  Felix  was  not  at  first  certain  whether 
the  peculiar  little  squeezes  his  arm  was  getting  were 
due  to  the  bounds  of  the  creature  under  them  or 


THE  FREELANDS  267 

to  some  cause  more  closely  connected  with  his 
mother,  and  it  was  not  till  they  shaved  a  cart  at  the 
turning  of  the  Becket  drive  that  it  suddenly  dawned 
on  him  that  she  was  in  terror.  He  discovered  it  in 
looking  round  just  as  she  drew  her  smile  over  a  spasm 
of  her  face  and  throat.  And,  leaning  out  of  the  car, 
he  said : 

"Drive  very  slowly,  Batter;  I  want  to  look  at  the 
trees." 

A  little  sigh  rewarded  him.  Since  she  had  said 
nothing,  he  said  nothing,  and  Clara's  words  in  the 
hall  seemed  to  him  singularly  tactless: 

"  Oh !  I  meant  to  have  reminded  you,  Felix,  to  send 
the  car  back  and  take  a  fly.  I  thought  you  knew 
that  Mother's  terrified  of  motors."  And  at  his 
mother's  answer: 

"Oh!  no;  I  quite  enjoyed  it,  dear,"  he  thought: 
'Bless  her  heart !  She  is  a  stoic !' 

Whether  or  no  to  tell  her  of  the  'kick-up  at  Joy- 
fields'  exercised  his  mind.  The  question  was  intri- 
cate, for  she  had  not  yet  been  informed  that  Nedda 
and  Derek  were  engaged,  and  Felix  did  not  feel  at 
liberty  to  forestall  the  young  people.  That  was 
their  business.  On  the  other  hand,  she  would  cer- 
tainly glean  from  Clara  a  garbled  understanding  of 
the  recent  events  at  Joyfields,  if  she  were  not  first 
told  of  them  by  himself.  And  he  decided  to  tell  her, 
with  the  natural  trepidation  of  one  who,  living  among 
principles  and  theories,  never  quite  knew  what  those, 
for  whom  each  fact  is  unrelated  to  anything  else 
under  the  moon,  were  going  to  think.  Frances  Free- 


268  THE  FREELANDS 

land,  he  knew  well,  kept  facts  and  theories  especially 
unrelated,  or,  rather,  modified  her  facts  to  suit  her 
theories,  instead  of,  like  Felix,  her  theories  to  suit  her 
facts.  For  example,  her  instinctive  admiration  for 
Church  and  State,  her  instinctive  theory  that  they 
rested  on  gentility  and  people  who  were  nice,  was 
never  for  a  moment  shaken  when  she  saw  a  half- 
starved  baby  of  the  slums.  Her  heart  would  impel 
her  to  pity  and  feed  the  poor  little  baby  if  she  could, 
but  to  correlate  the  creature  with  millions  of  other 
such  babies,  and  those  millions  with  the  Church  and 
State,  would  not  occur  to  her.  And  if  Felix  made  an 
attempt  to  correlate  them  for  her  she  would  look  at 
him  and  think:  'Dear  boy  !  How  good  he  is  !  I  do 
wish  he  wouldn't  let  that  line  come  in  his  forehead; 
it  does  so  spoil  it !'  And  she  would  say:  " Yes,  dar- 
ling, I  know,  it's  very  sad;  only  I'm  not  clever." 
And,  if  a  Liberal  government  chanced  to  be  in  power, 
would  add:  "Of  course,  I  do  think  this  Government 
is  dreadful.  I  must  show  you  a  sermon  of  the  dear 
Bishop  of  Walham.  I  cut  it  out  of  the  '  Daily  Mys- 
tery.' He  puts  things  so  well — he  always  has  such 
nice  ideas." 

And  Felix,  getting  up,  would  walk  a  little  and  sit 
down  again  too  suddenly.  Then,  as  if  entreating 
him  to  look  over  her  want  of  '  cleverness, '  she  would 
put  out  a  hand  that,  for  all  its  whiteness,  had  never 
been  idle  and  smooth  his  forehead.  It  had  some- 
times touched  him  horribly  to  see  with  what  despair 
she  made  attempts  to  follow  him  in  his  correlating 
efforts,  and  with  what  relief  she  heard  him  cease 


THE  FREELANDS  269 

enough  to  let  her  say:  "Yes,  dear;  only,  I  must  show 
you  this  new  kind  of  expanding  cork.  It's  simply 
splendid.  It  bottles  up  everything!''  And  after 
staring  at  her  just  a  moment  he  would  acquit  her 
of  irony.  Very  often  after  these  occasions  he  had 
thought,  and  sometimes  .said :  "  Mother,  you're  the 
best  Conservative  I  ever  met."  She  would  glance 
at  him  then,  with  a  special  loving  doubtfulness,  at  a 
loss  as  to  whether  or  no  he  had  designed  to  compli- 
ment her. 

When  he  had  given  her  half  an  hour  to  rest  he  made 
his  way  to  the  blue  corridor,  where  a  certain  room 
was  always  kept  for  her,  who  never  occupied  it  long 
enough  at  a  time  to  get  tired  of  it.  She  was  lying 
on  a  sofa  in  a  loose  gray  cashmere  gown.  The  win- 
dows were  open,  and  the  light  breeze  just  moved  in 
the  folds  of  the  chintz  curtains  and  stirred  perfume 
from  a  bowl  of  pinks — her  favorite  flowers.  There 
was  no  bed  in  this  bedroom,  which  in  all  respects 
differed  from  any  other  in  Clara's  house,  as  though 
the  spirit  of  another  age  and  temper  had  marched  in 
and  dispossessed  the  owner.  Felix  had  a  sensation 
that  one  was  by  no  means  all  body  here.  On  the 
contrary.  There  was  not  a  trace  of  the  body  any- 
where; as  if  some  one  had  decided  that  the  body  was 
not  quite  nice.  No  bed,  no  wash-stand,  no  chest 
of  drawers,  no  wrardrobe,  no  mirror,  not  even  a  jar 
of  Clara's  special  pot-pourri.  And  Felix  said: 
"This  can't  be  your  bedroom,  Mother?" 
Frances  Freeland  answered,  with  a  touch  of  dep- 
recating quizzicality: 


270  THE  FREELANDS 

"Oh !  yes,  darling.  I  must  show  you  my  arrange- 
ments. "  And  she  rose.  " This, "  she  said,  "you  see, 
goes  under  there,  and  that  under  here;  and  that  again 
goes  under  this.  Then  they  all  go  under  that,  and 
then  I  pull  this.  It's  lovely. " 

"But  why?"  said  Felix. 

" Oh !  but  don't  you  see ?  It's  so  nice;  nobody  can 
tell.  And  it  doesn't  give  any  trouble." 

"And  when  you  go  to  bed?" 

"Oh!  I  just  pop  my  clothes  into  this  and  open 
that.  And  there  I  am.  It's  simply  splendid. " 

"I  see,"  said  Felix.  "Do  you  think  I  might  sit 
down,  or  shall  I  go  through?" 

Frances  Freeland  loved  him  with  her  eyes,  and 
said: 

"Naughty  boy!" 

And  Felix  sat  down  on  what  appeared  to  be  a 
window-seat. 

"Well, "  he  said,  with  slight  uneasiness,  for  she  was 
hovering,  "I  think  you're  wonderful." 

Frances  Freeland  put  away  an  impeachment  that 
she  evidently  felt  to  be  too  soft. 

"Oh !  but  it's  aU  so  simple,  darling. "  And  Felix 
saw  that  she  had  something  in  her  hand,  and  mind. 

"This  is  my  little  electric  brush.  It'll  do  wonders 
with  your  hair.  While  you  sit  there,  I'll  just  try  it. " 

A  clicking  and  a  whirring  had  begun  to  occur  close 
to  his  ear,  and  something  darted  like  a  gadfly  at  his 
scalp. 

"I  came  to  tell  you  something  serious,  Mother." 

"Yes,  darling;  it'll  be  simply  lovely  to  hear  it; 


THE  FREELANDS  271 

and  you  mustn't  mind  this,  because  it  really  is  a 
first-rate  thing — quite  new." 

Now,  how  is  it,  thought  Felix,  that  any  one  who 
loves  the  new  as  she  does,  when  it's  made  of  matter, 
will  not  even  look  at  it  when  it's  made  of  mind? 
And,  while  the  little  machine  buzzed  about  his  head, 
he  proceeded  to  detail  to  her  the  facts  of  the  state  of 
things  that  existed  at  Joyfields. 

When  he  had  finished,  she  said: 

"Now,  darling,  bend  down  a  little." 

Felix  bent  down.  And  the  little  machine  began 
severely  tweaking  the  hairs  on  the  nape  of  his  neck. 
He  sat  up  again  rather  suddenly. 

Frances  Freeland  was  contemplating  the  little 
machine. 

"How  very  provoking !  It's  never  done  that  be- 
fore!" 

"Quite  so!"  Felix  murmured.     "But  about  Joy-  y 
fields?" 

"Oh,  my  dear,  it  is  such  a  pity  they  don't  get  on 
with  those  Mallorings !  I  do  think  it  sad  they, 
weren't  brought  up  to  go  to  church." 

Felix  stared,  not  knowing  whether  to  be  glad  or 
sorry  that  his  recital  had  not  roused  within  her  the 
faintest  suspicion  of  disaster.  How  he  envied  her 
that  single-minded  power  of  not  seeing  further  than 
was  absolutely  needful !  And  suddenly  he  thought : 
1  She  really  is  wonderful !  With  her  love  of  church, 
how  it  must  hurt  her  that  we  none  of  us  go,  not  even 
John !  And  yet  she  never  says  a  word.  There 
really  is  width  about  her;  a  power  of  accepting  the 


272  THE  FREELANDS 

inevitable.  Never  was  woman  more  determined  to 
make  the  best  of  a  bad  job.  It's  a  great  quality ! ' 
And  he  heard  her  say: 

"Now,  darling,  if  I  give  you  this,  you  must  promise 
me  to  use  it  every  morning.  You'll  find  you'll  soon 
have  a  splendid  crop  of  little  young  hairs. " 

"I  know,"  he  said  gloomily;  "but  they  won't 
come  to  anything.  Age  has  got  my  head,  Mother, 
just  as  it's  got  'the  Land's. ' " 

"Oh,  nonsense!  You  must  go  on  with  it,  that's 
all!" 

Felix  turned  so  that  he  could  look  at  her.  She  was 
moving  round  the  room  now,  meticulously  adjusting 
the  framed  photographs  of  her  family  that  were  the 
only  decoration  of  the  walls.  How  formal,  chiselled, 
and  delicate  her  face,  yet  how  almost  fanatically  de- 
cisive! How  frail  and  light  her  figure,  yet  how 
indomitably  active  !  And  the  memory  assailed  him 
of  how,  four  years  ago,  she  had  defeated  double 
pneumonia  without  having  a  doctor,  simply  by  ly- 
ing on  her  back.  '  She  leaves  trouble, '  he  thought, 
'until  it's  under  her  nose,  then  simply  tells  it  that  it 
isn't  there.  There's  something  very  English  about 
that.' 

She  was  chasing  a  bluebottle  now  with  a  little  fan 
made  of  wire,  and,  coming  close  to  Felix,  said : 

"Have  you  seen  these,  darling?  You've  only  to 
hit  the  fly  and  it  kills  him  at  once. " 

"But  do  you  ever  hit  the  fly?" 

"Oh,  yes !"  And  she  waved  the  fan  at  the  blue- 
bottle, which  avoided  it  without  seeming  difficulty. 


THE  FREELANDS  275 

"I  can't  bear  hurting  them,  but  I  'don't  like  'he's 
There!"  Vj 

The  bluebottle  flew  out  of  the  window  behind 
Felix  and  in  at  the  one  that  was  not  behind  him. 
He  rose. 

"You  ought  to  rest  before  tea,  Mother." 

He  felt  her  searching  him  with  her  eyes,  as  if  trying 
desperately  to  find  something  she  might  bestow  upon 
or  do  for  him. 

"Would  you  like  this  wire " 

With  a  feeling  that  he  was  defrauding  love,  he 
turned  and  fled.  She  would  never  rest  while  he  was 
there !  And  yet  there  was  that  in  her  face  which 
made  him  feel  a  brute  to  go. 

Passing  out  of  the  house,  sunk  in  its  Monday  hush, 
no  vestige  of  a  Bigwig  left,  Felix  came  to  that  new- 
walied  mound  where  the  old  house  of  the  Moretons 
had  been  burned  'by  soldiers  from  Tewkesbury  and 
Gloucester,'  as  said  the  old  chronicles  dear  to  the 
heart  of  Clara.  And  on  the  wall  he  sat  him  down. 
Above,  in  the  uncut  grass,  he  could  see  the  burning 
blue  of  a  peacock's  breast,  where  the  heraldic  bird 
stood  digesting  grain  in  the  repose  of  perfect  breeding, 
and  below  him  gardeners  were  busy  with  the  goose- 
berries. 'Gardeners  and  the  gooseberries  of  the 
great ! '  he  thought.  '  Such  is  the  future  of  our  Land. ' 
And  he  watched  them.  How  methodically  they 
went  to  work  !  How  patient  and  well-done-for  they 
looked !  After  all,  was  it  not  the  ideal  future  ?  Gar- 
deners, gooseberries,  and  the  great !  Each  of  the 
three  content  in  that  station  of  life  into  which — ! 


2?2  THE  FREELANDS 

ineyita  more  COuld  a  country  want  ?  Gardeners, 
gooseberries,  and  the  great!  The  phrase  had  a 
certain  hypnotic  value.  Why  trouble  ?  Why  fuss  ? 
Gardeners,  gooseberries,  and  the  great!  A  perfect 
land !  A  land  dedicate  to  the  week-end  !  Garden- 
ers, goose — !  And  suddenly  he  saw  that  he  was  not 
alone.  Half  hidden  by  the  angle  of  the  wall,  on  a 
stone  of  the  foundations,  carefully  preserved  and 
nearly  embedded  in  the  nettles  which  Clara  had 
allowed  to  grow  because  they  added  age  to  the  ap- 
pearance, was  sitting  a  Bigwig.  One  of  the  Settle- 
ham  faction,  he  had  impressed  Felix  alike  by  his 
reticence,  the  steady  sincerity  of  his  gray  eyes,  a 
countenance  that,  beneath  a  simple  and  delicate  ur- 
banity, had  still  in  it  something  of  the  best  type  of 
schoolboy.  'How  comes  he  to  have  stayed?1  he 
mused.  'I  thought  they  always  fed  and  scattered !' 
And  having  received  an  answer  to  his  salutation, 
he  moved  across  and  said: 

"I  imagined  you'd  gone." 

"I've  been  having  a  look  round.  It's  very  jolly 
here.  My  affections  are  in  the  North,  but  I  suppose 
this  is  pretty  well  the  heart  of  England." 

"  Near  '  the  big  song, ' "  Felix  answered.  "  There'll 
never  be  anything  more  English  than  Shakespeare, 
when  all's  said  and  done. "  And  he  took  a  steady, 
sidelong  squint  at  his  companion.  'This  is  another 
of  the  types  I've  been  looking  for,'  he  reflected. 
The  peculiar  'don't-quite-touch-me'  accent  of  the 
aristocrat — and  of  those  who  would  be — had  almost 
left  this  particular  one,  as  though  he  secretly  aspired 
to  rise  superior  and  only  employed  it  in  the  nervous- 


THE  FREELANDS  275 

ness  of  his  first  greetings.  '  Yes, '  thought  Felix, '  he's 
just  about  the  very  best  we  can  do  among  those  who 
sit  upon  '  the  Land. '  I  would  wager  there's  not  a 
better  landlord  nor  a  better  fellow  in  all  his  class,  than 
this  one.  He's  chalks  away  superior  to  Malloring, 
if  I  know  anything  of  faces — would  never  have  turned 
poor  Tryst  out.  If  this  exception  were  the  rule ! 
And  yet — !  Does  he,  can  he,  go  quite  far  enough  to 
meet  the  case?  If  not — what  hope  of  regeneration 
from  above?  Would  he  give  up  his  shooting? 
Could  he  give  up  feeling  he's  a  leader?  Would  he 
give  up  his  town  house  and  collecting  whatever  it  is 
he  collects?  Could  he  let  himself  sink  down  and 
merge  till  he  was  just  unseen  leaven  of  good-fellow- 
ship and  good- will,  working  in  the  common  bread?' 
And  squinting  at  that  sincere,  clean,  charming,  al- 
most fine  face,  he  answered  himself  unwillingly: 
'  He  could  not ! '  And  suddenly  he  knew  that  he  was 
face  to  face  with  the  tremendous  question  which  soon 
or  late  confronts  all  thinkers.  Sitting  beside  him— 
was  the  highest  product  of  the  present  system !  With 
its  charm,  humanity,  courage,  chivalry  up  to  a  point, 
its  culture,  and  its  cleanliness,  this  decidedly  rare 
flower  at  the  end  of  a  tall  stalk,  with  dark  and  tor- 
tuous roots  and  rank  foliage,  was  in  a  sense  the  sole 
justification  of  power  wielded  from  above.  And  was 
it  good  enough  ?  Was  it  quite  good  enough  ?  Like 
so  many  other  thinkers,  Felix  hesitated  to  reply.  If 
only  merit  and  the  goods  of  this  world  could  be 
finally  divorced !  If  the  reward  of  virtue  were  just 
men's  love  and  an  unconscious  self-respect !  If  only  . 
'  to  have  nothing '  were  the  highest  honour !  And 


2  76  THE  FREELANDS 

yet,  to  do  away  with  this  beside  him  and  put  in  its 
place — What?  No  kiss-me-quick  change  had  a 
chance  of  producing  anything  better.  To  scrap  the 
long  growth  of  man  and  start  afresh  was  but  to  say: 
'  Since  in  the  past  the  best  that  man  has  done  has  not 
been  good  enough,  I  have  a  perfect  faith  in  him  for 
the  future !'  No  !  That  was  a  creed  for  archangels 
and  other  extremists.  Safer  to  work  on  what  we 
had !  And  he  began : 

"Next  door  to  this  estate  I'm  told  there's  ten 
thousand  acres  almost  entirely  grass  and  covert, 
owned  by  Lord  Baltimore,  who  lives  hi  Norfolk, 
London,  Cannes,  and  anywhere  else  that  the  whim 
takes  him.  He  comes  down  here  twice  a  year  to 
shoot.  The  case  is  extremely  common.  Surely  it 
spells  paralysis.  If  land  is  to  be  owned  at  all  in 
such  great  lumps,  owners  ought  at  least  to  live  on 
the  lumps,  and  to  pass  very  high  examinations  as 
practical  farmers.  They  ought  to  be  the  life  and 
soul,  the  radiating  sun,  of  their  little  universes;  or 
else  they  ought  to  be  cleared  out.  How  expect  keen 
farming  to  start  from  such  an  example?  It  really 
looks  to  me  as  if  the  game  laws  would  have  to  go. " 
And  he  redoubled  his  scrutiny  of  the  Bigwig's  face. 
A  little  furrow  in  its  brow  had  deepened  visibly,  but 
nodding,  he  said: 

:'The  absentee  landlord  is  a  curse,  of  course.  I'm 
afraid  I'm  a  bit  of  a  one  myself.  And  I'm  bound  to 
say — though  I'm  keen  on  shooting — if  the  game  laws 
were  abolished,  it  might  do  a  lot." 

"  You  wouldn't  move  in  that  direction,  I  suppose  ?  " 


THE  FREELANDS  277 

The  Bigwig  smiled — charming,  rather  whimsical, 
that  smile. 

"Honestly,  I'm  not  up  to  it.  The  spirit,  you 
know,  but  the  flesh — !  My  line  is  housing  and 
wages,  of  course." 

'There  it  is,'  thought  Felix.  'Up  to  a  point, 
they'll  move — not  up  to  the  point.  It's  all  fiddling. 
One  won't  give  up  his  shooting;  another  won't  give 
up  his  power;  a  third  won't  give  up  her  week-ends; 
a  fourth  won't  give  up  his  freedom.  Our  interest  in 
the  thing  is  all  lackadaisical,  a  kind  of  bun-fight  of 
pet  notions.  There's  no  real  steam. '  And  abruptly 
changing  the  subject,  he  talked  of  pictures  to  the 
pleasant  Bigwig  in  the  sleepy  afternoon.  Of  how 
this  man  could  paint,  and  that  man  couldn't.  And 
in  the  uncut  grass  the  peacock  slowly  moved,  dis- 
playing his  breast  of  burning  blue;  and  below,  the 
gardeners  worked  among  the  gooseberries. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

NEDDA,  borrowing  the  bicycle  of  Clara's  maid, 
Sirrett,  had  been  over  to  Joyfields,  and  only  learned 
on  her  return  of  her  grandmother's  arrival.  In  her 
bath  before  dinner  there  came  to  her  one  of  those 
strategic  thoughts  that  even  such  as  are  no  longer 
quite  children  will  sometimes  conceive.  She  hurried 
desperately  into  her  clothes,  and,  ready  full  twenty 
minutes  before  the  gong  was  due  to  sound,  made  her 
way  to  her  grandmother's  room.  Frances  Freeland 
had  just  pulled  this,  and,  to  her  astonishment,  that 
had  not  gone  in  properly.  She  was  looking  at  it 
somewhat  severely,  when  she  heard  Nedda's  knock. 
Drawing  a  screen  temporarily  over  the  imperfection, 
she  said:  "Come  in!" 

The  dear  child  looked  charming  in  her  white  eve- 
ning dress  with  one  red  flower  in  her  hair;  and  while 
she  kissed  her,  she  noted  that  the  neck  of  her  dress 
was  just  a  little  too  open  to  be  quite  nice,  and  at  once 
thought:  'I've  got  the  very  thing  for  that.' 

Going  to  a  drawer  that  no  one  could  have  suspected 
of  being  there,  she  took  from  it  a  little  diamond  star. 
Getting  delicate  but  firm  hold  of  the  Mechlin  at  the 
top  of  the  frock,  she  popped  it  in,  so  that  the  neck 
was  covered  at  least  an  inch  higher,  and  said : 

"Now,  ducky,  you're  to  keep  that  as  a  little 
present.  You've  no  idea  how  perfectly  it  suits  you 


THE  FREELANDS  279 

just  like  this. "  And  having  satisfied  for  the  moment 
her  sense  of  niceness  and  that  continual  itch  to  part 
with  everything  she  had,  she  surveyed  her  grand- 
daughter, lighted  up  by  that  red  flower,  and  said: 

"  How  sweet  you  look !" 

Nedda,  looking  down  past  cheeks  colored  by 
pleasure  at  the  new  little  star  on  a  neck  rather 
browned  by  her  day  in  the  sun,  murmured : 

"  Oh,  Granny !  it's  much  too  lovely !  You  mustn't 
give  it  to  me ! " 

These  were  moments  that  Frances  Freeland  loved 
best  in  life;  and,  with  the  un truthfulness  in  which 
she  only  indulged  when  she  gave  things  away,  or 
otherwise  benefited  her  neighbors  with  or  without 
their  will,  she  added :  "  It's  quite  wasted;  I  never  wear ' 
it  myself. "  And,  seeing  Nedda's  smile,  for  the  girl 
recollected  perfectly  having  admired  it  during  dinner 
at  Uncle  John's,  and  at  Becket  itself,  she  said  de- 
cisively, "So  that's  that!"  and  settled  her  down  on 
the  sofa.  But  just  as  she  was  thinking,  '  I  have  the 
very  thing  for  the  dear  child's  sunburn, '  Nedda  said: 
"Granny,  dear,  I've  been  meaning  to  tell  you — 
Derek  and  I  are  engaged." 

For  the  moment  Frances  Freeland  could  do  noth- 
ing but  tremulously  interlace  her  fingers. 

"Oh,  but,  darling,"  she  said  very  gravely,  "have 
you  thought?" 

"I  think  of  nothing  else,  Granny." 

"But  has  he  thought?" 

Nedda  nodded. 

Frances  Freeland  sat  staring  straight  before  her. 


280  THE  FREELANDS 

Nedda  and  Derek,  Derek  and  Nedda !  The  news 
was  almost  unintelligible;  those  two  were  still  for  her 
barely  more  than  little  creatures  to  be  tucked  up  at 
night.  Engaged !  Marriage !  Between  those  who 
were  both  as  near  to  her,  almost,  as  her  own  children 
had  been !  The  effort  was  for  the  moment  quite  too 
much  for  her,  and  a  sort  of  pain  disturbed  her  heart. 
Then  the  crowning  principle  of  her  existence  came 
a  little  to  her  aid.  No  use  hi  making  a  fuss;  must 
put  the  best  face  on  it,  whether  it  were  going  to  come 
to  anything  or  not!  And  she  said: 

"Well,  darling,  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure.  I  dare  say 
it's  very  lovely  for  you.  But  do  you  think  you've 
seen  enough  of  him?" 

Nedda  gave  her  a  swift  look,  then  dropped  her 
lashes,  so  that  her  eyes  seemed  closed.  Snuggling 
up,  she  said: 

"No,  Granny,  I  do  wish  I  could  see  more;  if  only 
I  could  go  and  stay  with  them  a  little!" 

And  as  she  planted  that  dart  of  suggestion,  the 
gong  sounded. 

In  Frances  Freeland,  lying  awake  till  two,  as  was 
her  habit,  the  suggestion  grew.  To  this  growth  not 
only  her  custom  of  putting  the  best  face  on  things, 
but  her  incurable  desire  to  make  others  happy,  and 
an  instinctive  sympathy  with  love-affairs,  all  con- 
tributed; moreover,  Felix  had  said  something  about 
Derek's  having  been  concerned  in  something  rash. 
If  darling  Nedda  were  there  it  would  occupy  his 
mind  and  help  to  make  him  careful.  Never  dilatory 
in  forming  resolutions,  she  decided  to  take  the  girl 


THE  FREELANDS  281 

over  with  her  on  the  morrow.  Kirsteen  had  a  dear 
little  spare  room,  and  Nedda  should  take  her  bag. 
It  would  be  a  nice  surprise  for  them  all.  Accord- 
ingly, next  morning,  not  wanting  to  give  any  trouble, 
she  sent  Thomas  down  to  the  Red  Lion,  where  they 
had  a  comfortable  fly,  with  a  very  steady,  respectable 
driver,  and  ordered  it  to  come  at  half  past  two. 
Then,  without  saying  anything  to  Clara,  she  told 
Nedda  to  be  ready  to  pop  in  her  bag,  trusting  to 
her  powers  of  explaining  everything  to  everybody 
without  letting  anybody  know  anything.  Little  diffi- 
culties of  this  sort  never  bunkered  her;  she  was  essen- 
tially a  woman  of  action.  And  on  the  drive  to  Joy- 
fields  she  stilled  the  girPs  quavering  with: 

"It's  all  right,  darling;  it'll  be  very  nice  for  them. " 

She  was  perhaps  the  only  person  in  the  world  who 
was  not  just  a  little  bit  afraid  of  Kirsteen.  Indeed, 
she  was  constitutionally  unable  to  be  afraid  of  any- 
thing, except  motor-cars,  and,  of  course,  earwigs, 
and  even  them  one  must  put  up  with.  Her  critical 
sense  told  her  that  this  woman  in  blue  was  just  like 
anybody  else,  besides  her  father  had  been  the  colonel 
of  a  Highland  regiment,  which  was  quite  nice,  and 
one  must  put  the  best  face  on  her. 

In  this  way,  pointing  out  the  beauty  of  each  fea- 
ture of  the  scenery,  and  not  permitting  herself  or 
Nedda  to  think  about  the  bag,  they  drove  until  they 
came  to  Joyfields. 

Kirsteen  alone  was  in,  and,  having  sent  Nedda 
into  the  orchard  to  look  for  her  uncle,  Frances  Free- 
land  came  at  once  to  the  point.  It  was  so  important, 


282  THE  FREELANDS 

she  thought,  that  darling  Nedda  should  see  more  of 
dear  Derek.  They  were  very  young,  and  if  she 
could  stay  for  a  few  weeks,  they  would  both  know 
their  minds  so  much  better.  She  had  made  her 
bring  her  bag,  because  she  knew  dear  Kirsteen 
would  agree  with  her;  and  it  would  be  so  nice  for 
them  all.  Felix  had  told  her  about  that  poor  man 
who  had  done  this  dreadful  thing,  and  she  thought 
that  if  Nedda  were  here  it  would  be  a  distraction. 
She  was  a  very  good  child,  and  quite  useful  in  the 
house.  And  while  she  was  speaking  she  watched 
Kirsteen,  and  thought: '  She  is  very  handsome,  and  al- 
together ladylike;  only  it  is  such  a  pity  she  wears 
that  blue  thing  in  her  hair — it  makes  her  so  con- 
spicuous. '  And  rather  unexpectedly  she  said : 

"Do  you  know,  dear,  I  believe  I  know  the  very 
thing  to  keep  your  hair  from  getting  loose.  It's  such 
lovely  hair.  And  this  is  quite  a  new  thing,  and 
doesn't  show  at  all;  invented  by  a  very  nice  hair- 
dresser in  Worcester.  It's  simplicity  itself.  Do  let 
me  show  you ! "  Quickly  going  over,  she  removed 
the  kingfisher-blue  fillet,  and  making  certain  passes 
with  her  fingers  through  the  hair,  murmured: 

"It's  so  beautifully  fine;  it  seems  such  a  pity  not 
to  show  it  all,  dear.  Now  look  at  yourself ! "  And 
from  the  recesses  of  her  pocket  she  produced  a  little 
mirror.  "I'm  sure  Tod  will  simply  love  it  like  that. 
It'll  be  such  a  nice  change  for  him. " 

Kirsteen,  with  just  a  faint  wrinkling  of  her  lips 
and  eyebrows,  waited  till  she  had  finished.  Then 
she  said: 


THE  FREELANDS  283 

"Yes,  Mother,  dear,  I'm  sure  he  will,"  and  re- 
placed the  fillet.  A  patient,  half-sad,  half-quizzical 
smile  visited  Frances  Freeland's  lips,  as  who  should 
say: l Yes,  I  know  you  think  that  I'm  a  fuss-box,  but 
it  really  is  a  pity  that  you  wear  it  so,  darling ! J 

At  sight  of  that  smile,  Kirsteen  got  up  and  kissed 
her  gravely  on  the  forehead. 

When  Nedda  came  back  from  a  fruitless  search 
for  Tod,  her  bag  was  already  in  the  little  spare  bed- 
room and  Frances  Freeland  gone.  The  girl  had  never 
yet  been  alone  with  her  aunt,  for  whom  she  had  a 
fervent  admiration  not  unmixed  with  awe.  She 
idealized  her,  of  course,  thinking  of  her  as  one  might 
think  of  a  picture  or  statue,  a  symbolic  figure,  stand- 
ing for  liberty  and  justice  and  the  redress  of  wrong. 
Her  never-varying  garb  of  blue  assisted  the  girl's 
fancy,  for  blue  was  always  the  color  of  ideals  and 
aspiration — was  not  blue  sky  the  nearest  one  could 
get  to  heaven — were  not  blue  violets  the  flowers  of 
spring?  Then,  too,  Kirsteen  was  a  woman  with 
whom  it  would  be  quite  impossible  to  gossip  or  small- 
talk;  with  her  one  could  but  simply  and  directly  say 
what  one  felt,  and  only  that  over  things  which  really 
mattered.  And  this  seemed  to  Nedda  so  splendid 
that  it  sufficed  in  itself  to  prevent  the  girl  from  saying 
anything  whatever.  She  longed  to,  all  the  same, 
feeling  that  to  be  closer  to  her  aunt  meant  to  be 
closer  to  Derek.  Yet,  with  all,  she  knew  that  her 
own  nature  was  very  different;  this,  perhaps,  egged 
her  on,  and  made  her  aunt  seem  all  the  more  exciting. 
She  waited  breathless  till  Kirsteen  said: 


, 


284  THE  FREELANDS 

"Yes,  you  and  Derek  must  know  each  other 
better.  The  worst  kind  of  prison  in  the  world  is  a 
mistaken  marriage. " 

Nedda  nodded  fervently.  "It  must  be.  But  I 
think  one  knows,  Aunt  Kirsteen!" 

She  felt  as  if  she  were  being  searched  right  down 
to  the  soul  before  the  answer  came: 

"Perhaps.  I  knew  myself.  I  have  seen  others 
who  did — a  few.  I  think  you  might. " 

Nedda  flushed  from  sheer  joy.  "I  could  never  go 
on  if  I  didn't  love.  I  feel  I  couldn't,  even  if  I'd 
started." 

With  another  long  look  through  narrowing  eyes, 
Kirsteen  answered: 

"Yes.  You  would  want  truth.  But  after  mar- 
riage truth  is  an  unhappy  thing,  Nedda,  if  you  have 
made  a  mistake. " 

"  It  must  be  dreadful.    Awful. " 

"So  don't  make  a  mistake,  my  dear — and  don't 
let  him." 

Nedda  answered  solemnly: 

"I  won't— oh,  I  won't!" 

Kirsteen  had  turned  away  to  the  window,  and 
Nedda  heard  her  say  quietly  to  herself: 

'" Liberty's  a  glorious  feast!'" 

Trembling  all  over  with  the  desire  to  express  what 
.  was  in  her,  Nedda  stammered: 

"I  would  never  keep  anything  that  wanted  to  be 
free — never,  never !  I  would  never  try  to  make  any 
one  do  what  they  didn't  want  to !" 

She  saw  her  aunt  smile,  and  wondered  whether  she 


THE  FREELANDS  285 

had  said  anything  exceptionally  foolish.  But  it  was 
not  foolish — surely  not — to  say  what  one  really  felt. 

"Some  day,  Nedda,  all  the  world  will  say  that 
with  you.  Until  then  we'll  fight  those  who  won't 
say  it.  Have  you  got  everything  in  your  room  you 
want?  Let's  come  and  see." 

To  pass  from  Becket  to  Joyfields  was  really  a 
singular  experience.  At  Becket  you  were  certainly 
supposed  to  do  exactly  what  you  liked,  but  the 
tyranny  of  meals,  baths,  scents,  and  other  accom- 
paniments of  the  ' all-body'  regime  soon  annihilated 
every  impulse  to  do  anything  but  just  obey  it.  At 
Joyfields,  bodily  existence  was  a  kind  of  perpetual 
skirmish,  a  sort  of  grudged  accompaniment  to  a  state 
of  soul.  You  might  be  alone  in  the  house  at  any 
meal-time.  You  might  or  might  not  have  water  in 
your  jug.  And  as  to  baths,  you  had  to  go  out  to  a 
little  white-washed  shed  at  the  back,  with  a  brick 
floor,  where  you  pumped  on  yourself,  prepared  to 
shout  out,  "Halloo  !  I'm  here !"  in  case  any  one  else 
came  wanting  to  do  the  same.  The  conditions  were 
in  fact  almost  perfect  for  seeing  more  of  one  another. 
Nobody  asked  where  you  were  going,  with  whom 
going,  or  how  going.  You  might  be  away  by  day  or 
night  without  exciting  curiosity  or  comment.  And 
yet  you  were  conscious  of  a  certain  something  always 
there,  holding  the  house  together;  some  principle  of 
life,  or  perhaps — just  a  woman  in  blue.  There,  too, 
was  that  strangest  of  all  phenomena  in  an  English 
home — no  game  ever  played,  outdoors  or  in. 

The  next  fortnight,  while  the  grass  was  ripening, 


286  THE  FREELANDS 

was  a  wonderful  time  for  Nedda,  given  up  to  her 
single  passion — of  seeing  more  of  him  who  so  com- 
pletely occupied  her  heart.  She  was  at  peace  now 
with  Sheila,  whose  virility  forbade  that  she  should 
dispute  pride  of  place  with  this  soft  and  truthful 
guest,  so  evidently  immersed  in  rapture.  Besides, 
Nedda  had  that  quality  of  getting  on  well  with  her 
own  sex,  found  in  those  women  who,  though  tena- 
cious, are  not  possessive;  who,  though  humble,  are 
secretly  very  self-respecting;  who,  though  they  do 
not  say  much  about  it,  put  all  their  eggs  in  one  bas- 
ket; above  all,  who  disengage,  no  matter  what  their 
age,  a  candid  but  subtle  charm. 

But  that  fortnight  was  even  more  wonderful  for 
Derek,  caught  between  two  passions — both  so  fer- 
vid. For  though  the  passion  of  his  revolt  against  the 
Mallorings  did  not  pull  against  his  passion  for  Nedda, 
they  both  tugged  at  him.  And  this  had  one  curious 
psychological  effect.  It  made  his  love  for  Nedda 
more  actual,  less  of  an  idealization.  Now  that  she 
was  close  to  him,  under  the  same  roof,  he  felt  the  full 
allurement  of  her  innocent  warmth;  he  would  have 
been  cold-blooded  indeed  if  he  had  not  taken  fire, 
and,  his  pride  always  checking  the  expression  of  his 
feelings,  they  glowed  ever  hotter  underneath. 

Yet,  over  those  sunshiny  days  there  hung  a 
shadow,  as  of  something  kept  back,  not  shared  be- 
tween them;  a  kind  of  waiting  menace.  Nedda 
learned  of  Kirsteen  and  Sheila  all  the  useful  things 
she  could;  the  evenings  she  passed  with  Derek,  those 
long  evenings  of  late  May  and  early  June,  this  year 


THE  FREELANDS  287 

so  warm  and  golden.  They  walked  generally  in  the 
direction  of  the  hills.  A  favorite  spot  was  a  wood 
of  larches  whose  green  shoots  had  not  yet  quite 
ceased  to  smell  of  lemons.  Tall,  slender  things  those 
trees,  whose  stems  and  dried  lower  branch-growth 
were  gray,  almost  sooty,  up  to  the  feathery  green 
of  the  tops,  that  swayed  and  creaked  faintly  in  a 
wind,  with  a  soughing  of  their  branches  like  the 
sound  of  the  sea.  From  the  shelter  of  those  High- 
land trees,  rather  strange  in  such  a  countryside,  they 
two  could  peer  forth  at  the  last  sunlight  gold-powder- 
ing the  fringed  branches,  at  the  sunset  flush  dyeing 
the  sky  above  the  Beacon;  watch  light  slowly  folding 
gray  wings  above  the  hay-fields  and  the  elms;  mark 
the  squirrels  scurry  along,  and  the  pigeons'  evening 
flight.  A  stream  ran  there  at  the  edge,  and  beech- 
trees  grew  beside  it.  In  the  tawny-dappled  sand 
bed  of  that  clear  water,  and  the  gray-green  dappled 
trunks  of  those  beeches  with  their  great,  sinuous, 
long-muscled  roots,  was  that  something  which  man 
can  never  tame  or  garden  out  of  the  land :  the  strength 
of  unconquerable  fertility — the  remote  deep  life  in 
Nature's  heart.  Men  and  women  had  their  spans 
of  existence;  those  trees  seemed  as  if  there  forever! 
From  generation  to  generation  lovers  might  come 
and,  looking  on  this  strength  and  beauty,  feel  in  their 
veins  the  sap  of  the  world.  Here  the  laborer  and  his 
master,  hearing  the  wind  in  the  branches  and  the 
water  murmuring  down,  might  for  a  brief  minute 
grasp  the  land's  unchangeable  wild  majesty.  And 
on  the  far  side  of  that  little  stream  was  a  field  of 


288  THE  FREELANDS 

moon-colored  flowers  that  had  for  Nedda  a  strange 
fascination.  Once  the  boy  jumped  across  and 
brought  her  back  a  handkerchief  full.  They  were 
of  two  kinds:  close  to  the  water's  edge  the  marsh 
orchis,  and  farther  back,  a  small  marguerite.  Out  of 
this  they  made  a  crown  of  the  alternate  flowers,  and 
a  girdle  for  her  waist.  That  was  an  evening  of  rare 
beauty,  and  warm  enough  already  for  an  early  chafer 
to  go  blooming  in  the  dusk.  An  evening  when  they 
wandered  with  their  arms  round  each  other  a  long 
time,  silent,  stopping  to  listen  to  an  owl;  stopping  to 
point  out  each  star  coming  so  shyly  up  in  the  gray- 
violet  of  the  sky.  And  that  was  the  evening  when 
they  had  a  strange  little  quarrel,  sudden  as  a  white 
squall  on  a  blue  sea,  or  the  tiff  of  two  birds  shooting 
up  in  a  swift  spiral  of  attack  and  then — all  over. 
Would  he  come  to-morrow  to  see  her  milking?  He 
could  not.  Why?  He  could  not;  he  would  be  out. 
Ah !  he  never  told  her  where  he  went;  he  never  let  her 
come  with  him  among  the  laborers  like  Sheila. 

"I  can't;  I'm  pledged  not." 

"Then  you  don't  trust  me!" 

"  Of  course  I  trust  you;  but  a  promise  is  a  promise. 
You  oughtn't  to  ask  me,  Nedda. " 

"No;  but  I  would  never  have  promised  to  keep 
anything  from  you." 

"You  don't  understand." 

"Oh!  yes,  I  do.  Love  doesn't  mean  the  same  to 
you  that  it  does  to  me. " 

"How  do  you  know  what  it  means  to  me?" 

"I  couldn't  have  a  secret  from  you. " 


THE  FREELANDS  289 

"Then  you  don't  count  honour." 

" Honour  only  binds  oneself!" 

"  What  d'you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"I  include  you — you  don't  include  me  in  yourself, 
that's  all." 

"I  think  you're  very  unjust.  I  was  obliged  to 
promise;  it  doesn't  only  concern  myself." 

Then  silent,  motionless,  a  yard  apart,  they  looked 
fiercely  at  each  other,  their  hearts  stiff  and  sore,  and 
in  their  brains  no  glimmer  of  perception  of  anything 
but  tragedy.  What  more  tragic  than  to  have  come 
out  of  an  elysium  of  warm  arms  round  each  other,  to 
this  sudden  hostility !  And  the  owl  went  on  hooting, 
and  the  larches  smelled  sweet !  And  all  around  was 
the  same  soft  dusk  wherein  the  flowers  in  her  hair  and 
round  her  waist  gleamed  white !  But  for  Nedda  the 
world  had  suddenly  collapsed.  Tears  rushed  into 
her  eyes;  she  shook  her  head  and  turned  away,  hid- 
ing them  passionately.  ...  A  full  minute  passed, 
each  straining  to  make  no  sound  and  catch  the 
faintest  sound  from  the  other,  till  in  her  breathing 
there  was  a  little  clutch.  His  fingers  came  stealing 
round,  touched  her  cheeks,  and  were  wetted.  His 
arms  suddenly  squeezed  all  breath  out  of  her;  his 
lips  fastened  on  hers.  She  answered  those  lips  with 
her  own  desperately,  bending  her  head  back,  shutting 
her  wet  eyes.  And  the  owl  hooted,  and  the  white 
flowers  fell  into  the  dusk  off  her  hair  and  waist. 

After  that,  they  walked  once  more  enlaced,  avoid- 
ing with  what  perfect  care  any  allusion  to  the  sudden 
tragedy,  giving  themselves  up  to  the  bewildering 


290  THE  FREELANDS 

ecstasy  that  had  started  throbbing  in  their  blood 
with  that  kiss,  longing  only  not  to  spoil  it.  And 
through  the  sheltering  larch  wood  their  figures 
moved  from  edge  to  edge,  like  two  little  souls  in 
paradise,  unwilling  to  come  forth. 

After  that  evening  love  had  a  poignancy  it  had 
not  quite  had  before;  at  once  deeper,  sweeter,  tinged 
for  both  of  them  with  the  rich  darkness  of  passion, 
and  with  discovery  that  love  does  not  mean  a  perfect 
merger  of  one  within  another.  For  both  felt  them- 
selves in  the  right  over  that  little  quarrel.  The  boy 
that  he  could  not,  must  not,  resign  what  was  not  his 
to  resign;  feeling  dimly,  without  being  quite  able  to 
shape  the  thought  even  to  himself,  that  a  man  has  a 
life  of  action  into  which  a  woman  cannot  always 
enter,  with  which  she  cannot  always  be  identified. 
The  girl  feeling  that  she  did  not  want  any  life  into 
which  he  did  not  enter,  so  that  it  was  hard  that  he 
should  want  to  exclude  her  from  anything.  For  all 
that,  she  did  not  try  again  to  move  him  to  let  her 
into  the  secret  of  his  plans  of  revolt  and  revenge,  and 
disdained  completely  to  find  them  out  from  Sheila 
or  her  aunt. 

And  the  grass  went  on  ripening.  Many  and  vari- 
ous as  the  breeds  of  men,  or  the  trees  of  a  forest,  were 
the  stalks  that  made  up  that  greenish  jungle  with 
the  waving,  fawn-colored  surface;  of  rye-grass  and 
brome-grass,  of  timothy,  plantain,  and  yarrow;  of 
bent-grass  and  quake-grass,  foxtail,  and  the  green- 
hearted  trefoil;  of  dandelion,  dock,  musk- thistle,  and 
sweet-scented  vernal. 


THE  FREELANDS  291 

On  the  loth  of  June  Tod  began  cutting  his  three 
fields;  the  whole  family,  with  Nedda  and  the  three 
Tryst  children,  working  like  slaves.  Old  Gaunt,  who 
looked  to  the  harvests  to  clothe  him  for  the  year, 
came  to  do  his  share  of  raking,  and  any  other  who 
could  find  some  evening  hours  to  spare.  The  whole 
was  cut  and  carried  in  three  days  of  glorious  weather. 

The  lovers  were  too  tired  the  last  evening  of  hay 
harvest  to  go  rambling,  and  sat  in  the  orchard  watch- 
ing the  moon  slide  up  through  the  coppice  behind 
the  church.  They  sat  on  Tod's  log,  deliciously 
weary,  in  the  scent  of  the  new-mown  hay,  while 
moths  flitted  gray  among  the  blue  darkness  of  the 
leaves,  and  the  whitened  trunks  of  the  apple-trees 
gleamed  ghostly.  It  was  very  warm;  a  night  of 
whispering  air,  opening  all  hearts.  And  Derek  said: 

"You'll  know  to-morrow,  Nedda." 

A  flutter  of  fear  overtook  her.  What  would  she 
know? 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

ON  the  i3th  of  June  Sir  Gerald  Malloring,  re- 
turning home  to  dinner  from  the  House  of  Commons, 
found  on  his  hall  table,  enclosed  in  a  letter  from  his 
agent,  the  following  paper: 

"  We,  the  undersigned  laborers  on  Sir  Gerald  Malloring's 
estate,  beg  respectfully  to  inform  him  that  we  consider  it 
unjust  that  any  laborer  should  be  evicted  from  his  cottage 
for  any  reason  connected  with  private  life,  or  social  or  polit- 
ical convictions.  And  we  respectfully  demand  that,  before  a 
laborer  receives  notice  to  quit  for  any  such  reason,  the  case 
shall  be  submitted  to  all  his  fellow  laborers  on  the  estate; 
and  that  in  the  future  he  shall  only  receive  such  notice  if  a 
majority  of  his  fellow  laborers  record  their  votes  in  favor  of 
the  notice  being  given.  In  the  event  of  this  demand  being 
refused,  we  regretfully  decline  to  take  any  hand  in  getting 
in  the  hay  on  Sir  Gerald  Malloring's  estate." 

Then  followed  ninety-three  signatures,  or  signs 
of  the  cross  with  names  printed  after  them. 

The  agent's  letter  which  enclosed  this  document 
mentioned  that  the  hay  was  already  ripe  for  cutting; 
that  everything  had  been  done  to  induce  the  men  to 
withdraw  the  demand,  without  success,  and  that  the 
farmers  were  very  much  upset.  The  thing  had  been 
sprung  on  them,  the  agent  having  no  notion  that 
anything  of  the  sort  was  on  foot.  It  had  been  very 

292 


THE  FREELANDS  293 

secretly,  very  cleverly,  managed;  and,  in  the,  agent's 
opinion,  was  due  to  Mr.  Freeland's  family.  He 
awaited  Sir  Gerald's  instructions.  Working  double 
tides,  with  luck  and  good  weather,  the  farmers  and 
their  families  might  perhaps  save  half  of  the  hay. 

Malloring  read  this  letter  twice,  and  the  enclosure 
three  times,  and  crammed  them  deep  down  into  his 
pocket. 

It  was  pre-eminently  one  of  those  moments  which 
bring  out  the  qualities  of  Norman  blood.  And  the 
first  thing  he  did  was  to  look  at  the  barometer.  It 
was  going  slowly  down.  After  a  month  of  first-class 
weather  it  would  not  do  that  without  some  sinister 
intention.  An  old  glass,  he  believed  in  it  implicitly. 
He  tapped,  and  it  sank  further.  He  stood  there 
frowning.  Should  he  consult  his  wife?  General 
friendliness  said :  Yes !  A  Norman  instinct  of  chiv- 
alry, and  perhaps  the  deeper  Norman  instinct,  that, 
when  it  came  to  the  point,  women  were  too  violent, 
said,  No !  He  went  up-stairs  three  at  a  time,  and 
came  down  two.  And  all  through  dinner  he  sat 
thinking  it  over,  and  talking  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened; so  that  he  hardly  spoke.  Three-quarters  of 
the  hay  at  stake,  if  it  rained  soon !  A  big  loss  to  the 
farmers,  a  further  reduction  in  rents  already  far  too 
low.  Should  he  grin  and  bear  it,  and  by  doing 
nothing  show  these  fellows  that  he  could  afford  to  de- 
spise their  cowardly  device?  For  it  was  cowardly 
to  let  his  grass  get  ripe  and  play  it  this  low  trick ! 
But  if  he  left  things  unfought  this  time,  they  would 
try  it  on  again  with  the  corn— not  that  there  was 


294  THE  FREELANDS 

much  of  that  on  the  estate  of  a  man  who  only  believed 
in  corn  as  a  policy. 

Should*  he  make  the  farmers  sack  the  lot  and  get 
in  other  labor?  But  where?  Agricultural  laborers 
were  made,  not  born.  And  it  took  a  deuce  of  a  lot 
of  making,  at  that !  Should  he  suspend  wages  till 
they  withdrew  their  demand  ?  That  might  do — but 
he  would  still  lose  the  hay.  The  hay !  After  all, 
anybody,  pretty  well,  could  make  hay;  it  was  the 
least  skilled  of  all  farm  work,  so  long  as  the  farmers 
were  there  to  drive  the  machines  and  direct.  Why 
not  act  vigorously?  And  his  jaws  set  so  suddenly 
on  a  piece  of  salmon  that  he  bit  his  tongue.  The 
action  served  to  harden  a  growing  purpose.  So  do 
small  events  influence  great !  Suspend  those  fellows' 
wages,  get  down  strike-breakers,  save  the  hay !  And 
if  there  were  a  row — well,  let  there  be  a  row !  The 
constabulary  would  have  to  act.  It  was  characteris- 
tic of  his  really  Norman  spirit  that  the  notion  of 
agreeing  to  the  demand,  or  even  considering  whether 
it  were  just,  never  once  came  into  his  mind.  He 
was  one  of  those,  comprising  nowadays  nearly  all 
his  class,  together  with  their  press,  who  habitually 
referred  to  his  country  as  a  democratic  power,  a 
champion  of  democracy — but  did  not  at  present  sus- 
pect the  meaning  of  the  word;  nor,  to  say  truth,  was 
it  likely  they  ever  would.  Nothing,  however,  made 
him  more  miserable  than  indecision.  And  so,  now 
that  he  was  on  the  point  of  deciding,  and  the  deci- 
sion promised  vigorous  consequences,  he  felt  almost 
elated.  Closing  his  jaws  once  more  too  firmly,  this 


THE  FREELANDS  295 

time  on  lamb,  he  bit  his  tongue  again.  It  was  im- 
possible to  confess  what  he  had  done,  for  two  of  his 
children  were  there,  expected  to  eat  with  that  well- 
bred  detachment  which  precludes  such  happenings; 
and  he  rose  from  dinner  with  his  mind  made  up. 
Instead  of  going  back  to  the  House  of  Commons,  he 
went  straight  to  a  strike-breaking  agency.  No  grass 
should  grow  under  the  feet  of  his  decision  !  Thence 
he  sought  the  one  post-office  still  open,  despatched  a 
long  telegram  to  his  agent,  another  to  the  chief 
constable  of  Worcestershire;  and,  feeling  he  had  done 
all  he  could  for  the  moment,  returned  to  the  '  House, ' 
where  they  were  debating  the  rural  housing  question. 
He  sat  there,  paying  only  moderate  attention  to  a 
subject  on  which  he  was  acknowledged  an  authority. 
To-morrow,  in  all  probability,  the  papers  would  have 
got  hold  of  the  affair !  How  he  loathed  people  poking 
their  noses  into  his  concerns !  And  suddenly  he  was 
assailed,  very  deep  down,  by  a  feeling  with  which 
in  his  firmness  he  had  not  reckoned — a  sort  of  re- 
morse that  he  was  going  to  let  a  lot  of  loafing  black- 
guards down  onto*  his  land,  to  toss  about  his  grass, 
and  swill  their  beastly  beer  above  it.  And  all  the 
real  love  he  had  for  his  fields  and  coverts,  all  the 
fastidiousness  of  an  English  gentleman,  and,  to  do 
him  justice,  the  qualms  of  a  conscience  telling  him 
that  he  owed  better  things  than  this  to  those  born  on 
his  estate,  assaulted  him  in  force.  He  sat  back  in 
his  seat,  driving  his  long  legs  hard  against  the  pew 
in  front.  His  thick,  wavy,  still  brown  hair  was  beau- 
tifully parted  above  the  square  brow  that  frowned 


296  THE  FREELANDS 

over  deep-set  eyes  and  a  perfectly  straight  nose. 
Now  and  again  he  bit  into  a  side  of  his  straw-colored 
moustache,  or  raised  a  hand  and  twisted  the  other 
side.  Without  doubt  one  of  the  handsomest  and 
perhaps  the  most  Norman-looking  man  in  the  whole 
1  House. '  There  was  a  feeling  among  those  round  him 
that  he  was  thinking  deeply.  And  so  he  was.  But 
he  had  decided,  and  he  was  not  a  man  who  went 
back  on  his  decisions. 

Morning  brought  even  worse  sensations.  Those 
ruffians  that  he  had  ordered  down — the  farmers 
would  never  consent  to  put  them  up !  They  would 
have  to  camp.  Camp  on  his  land  !  It  was  then  that 
for  two  seconds  the  thought  flashed  through  him: 
Ought  I  to  have  considered  whether  I  could  agree 
to  that  demand?  Gone  in  another  flash.  If  there 
was  one  thing  a  man  could  not  tolerate,  it  was  dic- 
tation !  Out  of  the  question  !  But  perhaps  he  had 
been  a  little  hasty  about  strike-breakers.  Was  there 
not  still  time  to  save  the  situation  from  that,  if  he 
caught  the  first  tram?  The  personal  touch  was 
everything.  If  he  put  it  to  the  men  on  the  spot, 
with  these  strike-breakers  up  his  sleeve,  surely  they 
must  listen !  After  all,  they  were  his  own  people. 
And  suddenly  he  was  overcome  with  amazement  that 
they  should  have  taken  such  a  step.  What  had  got 
into  them?  Spiritless  enough,  as  a  rule,  in  all  con- 
science; the  sort  of  fellows  who  hadn't  steam  even  to 
join  the  miniature  rifle-range  that  he  had  given  them ! 
And  visions  of  them,  as  he  was  accustomed  to  pass 
them  in  the  lanes,  slouching  along  with  their  straw 


THE  FREELANDS  297 

bags,  their  hoes,  and  their  shamefaced  greetings, 
passed  before  him.  Yes !  It  was  all  that  fellow 
Freeland's  family !  The  men  had  been  put  up  to  it- 
put  up  to  it !  The  very  wording  of  their  demand 
showed  that !  Very  bitterly  he  thought  of  the  un- 
neighborly  conduct  of  that  woman  and  her  cubs. 
It  was  impossible  to  keep  it  from  hisjwife !  And  so 
he  told  her.  Rather  to  his  surprise,  she  had  no 
scruples  about  the  strike-breakers.  Of  course,  the 
hay  must  be  saved !  And  the  laborers  be  taught  a 
lesson  !  All  the  unpleasantness  he  and  she  had  gone 
through  over  Tryst  and  that  Gaunt  girl  must  not  go 
for  nothing !  It  must  never  be  said  or  thought  that 
the  Freeland  woman  and  her  children  had  scored 
over  them !  If  the  lesson  were  once  driven  home, 
they  would  have  no  further  trouble. 

He  admired  her  firmness,  though  with  a  certain 
impatience.  Women  never  quite  looked  ahead; 
never  quite  realized  all  the  consequences  of  anything. 
And  he  thought:  'By  George !  I'd  no  idea  she  was  so 
hard !  But,  then,  she  always  felt  more  strongly 
about  Tryst  and  that  Gaunt  girl  than  I  did. ' 

In  the  hall  the  glass  was  still  going  down.  He 
caught  the  9.15,  wiring  to  his  agent  to  meet  him  at 
the  station,  and  to  the  impresario  of  the  strike- 
breakers to  hold  up  their  departure  until  he  tele- 
graphed. The  three-mile  drive  up  from  the  station, 
fully  half  of  which  was  through  his  own  land,  put  him 
in  possession  of  all  the  agent  had  to  tell:  Nasty  spirit 
abroad — men  dumb  as  fishes — the  farmers,  puzzled 
and  angry,  had  begun  cutting  as  best  they  could. 


298  THE  FREELANDS 

Not  a  man  had  budged.  He  had  seen  young  Mr. 
and  Miss  Freeland  going  about.  The  thing  had  been 
worked  very  cleverly.  He  had  suspected  nothing— 
utterly  unlike  the  laborers  as  he  knew  them.  They 
had  no  real  grievance,  either !  Yes,  they  were  going 
on  with  all  their  other  work — milking,  horses,  and 
that ;  it  was  only  the  hay  they  wouldn't  touch.  Their 
demand  was  certainly  a  very  funny  one — very  funny 
—had  never  heard  of  anything  like  it.  Amounted 
almost  to  security  of  tenure.  The  Tryst  affair  no 
doubt  had  done  it !  Malloring  cut  him  short: 

"Till  they've  withdrawn  this  demand,  Simmons, 
I  can't  discuss  that  or  anything. " 

The  agent  coughed  behind  his  hand. 

Naturally !  Only  perhaps  there  might  be  a  way 
of  wording  it  that  would  satisfy  them.  Never  do  to 
really  let  them  have  such  decisions  in  their  hands,  of 
course ! 

They  were  just  passing  Tod's.  The  cottage  wore 
its  usual  air  of  embowered  peace.  And  for  the  life 
of  him  Malloring  could  not  restrain  a  gesture  of 
annoyance. 

On  reaching  home  he  sent  gardeners  and  grooms 
in  all  directions  with  word  that  he  would  be  glad  to 
meet  the  men  at  four  o'clock  at  the  home  farm. 
Much  thought,  and  interviews  with  several  of  the 
farmers,  who  all  but  one — a  shaky  fellow  at  best — 
were  for  giving  the  laborers  a  sharp  lesson,  occupied 
the  interval.  Though  he  had  refused  to  admit  the 
notion  that  the  men  could  be  chicaned,  as  his  agent 
had  implied,  he  certainly  did  wonder  a  little  whether 


THE  FREELANDS  299 

a  certain  measure  of  security  might  not  in  some  way 
be  guaranteed,  which  would  still  leave  him  and  the 
farmers  a  free  hand.  But  the  more  he  meditated 
on  the  whole  episode,  the  more  he  perceived  how 
intimately  it  interfered  with  the  fundamental  policy 
of  all  good  landowners — of  knowing  what  was  good 
for  their  people  better  than  those  people  knew  them- 
selves. 

As  four  o'clock  approached,  he  walked  down  to  the 
home  farm.  The  sky  was  lightly  overcast,  and  a 
rather  chill,  draughty,  rustling  wind  had  risen.  Re- 
solved to  handle  the  men  with  the  personal  touch, 
he  had  discouraged  his  agent  and  the  farmers  from 
coming  to  the  conference,  and  passed  the  gate  with 
the  braced-up  feeling  of  one  who  goes  to  an  encounter. 
In  that  very  spick-and-span  farmyard  ducks  were 
swimming  leisurely  on  the  greenish  pond,  white 
pigeons  strutting  and  preening  on  the  eaves  of  the 
barn,  and  his  keen  eye  noted  that  some  tiles  were  out 
of  order  up  there.  Four  o'clock !  Ah,  here  was  a 
fellow  coming!  And  instinctively  he  crisped  his 
hands  that  were  buried  in  his  pockets,  and  ran  over 
to  himself  his  opening  words.  Then,  with  a  sensa- 
tion of  disgust,  he  saw  that  the  advancing  laborer 
was  that  incorrigible  'land  lawyer'  Gaunt.  The 
short,  square  man  with  the  ruffled  head  and  the  little 
bright-gray  eyes  saluted,  uttered  an  "Afternoon, 
Sir  Gerald!"  in  his  teasing  voice,  and  stood  still. 
His  face  wore  the  jeering  twinkle  that  had  discon- 
certed so  many  political  meetings.  Two  lean  fellows, 
rather  alike,  with  lined  faces  and  bitten,  drooped 


300  THE  FREELANDS 

moustaches,  were  the  next  to  come  through  the  yard 
gate.  They  halted  behind  Gaunt,  touching  their 
forelocks,  shuffling  a  little,  and  looking  sidelong  at 
each  other.  And  Malloring  waited.  Five  past 
four!  Ten  past!  Then  he  said: 

"D'you  mind  telling  the  others  that  I'm  here?" 

Gaunt  answered: 

"If  so  be  as  you  was  waitin'  for  the  meetin',  I 
fancy  as  W  you've  got  it,  Sir  Gerald ! " 

A  wave  of  anger  surged  up  in  Malloring,  dyeing 
his  face  brick-red.  So !  He  had  come  all  that  way 
with  the  best  intentions — to  be  treated  like  this;  to 
meet  this  'land  lawyer/  who,  he  could  see,  was  only 
here  to  sharpen  his  tongue,  and  those  two  scarecrow- 
looking  chaps,  who  had  come  to  testify,  no  doubt, 
to  his  discomfiture.  And  he  said  sharply: 

"So  that's  the  best  you  can  do  to  meet  me,  is  it?" 

Gaunt  answered  imperturbably: 

"I  think  it  is,  Sir  Gerald." 

"Then  youVe  mistaken  your  man." 

"I  don't  think  so,  Sir  Gerald." 

Without  another  look  Malloring  passed  the  three 
by,  and  walked  back  to  the  house.  In  the  hall  was 
the  agent,  whose  face  clearly  showed  that  he  had 
foreseen  this  defeat.  Malloring  did  not  wait  for 
him  to  speak. 

"Make  arrangements.  The  strike-breakers  will 
be  down  by  noon  to-morrow.  I  shall  go  through 
with  it  now,  Simmons,  if  I  have  to  clear  the  whole 
lot  out.  You'd  better  go  in  and  see  that  they're 
ready  to  send  police  if  there's  any  nonsense.  I'll 


THE  FREELANDS  301 

be  down  again  in  a  day  or  two."  And,  without 
waiting  for  reply,  he  passed  into  his  study.  There, 
while  the  car  was  being  got  ready,  he  stood  in  the 
window,  very  sore;  thinking  of  what  he  had  meant 
to  do;  thinking  of  his  good  intentions;  thinking  of 
what  was  coming  to  the  country,  when  a  man  could 
not  even  get  his  laborers  to  come  and  hear  what  he 
had  to  say.  And  a  sense  of  injustice,  of  anger,  of 
bewilderment,  harrowed  his  very  soul. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

FOR  the  first  two  days  of  this  new  '  kick-up/  that 
'fellow  FreelandV  family  undoubtedly  tasted  the 
sweets  of  successful  mutiny.  The  fellow  himself 
alone  shook  his  head.  He,  like  Nedda,  had  known 
nothing,  and  there  was  to  him  something  unnatural 
and  rather  awful  in  this  conduct  toward  dumb  crops. 

From  the  moment  he  heard  of  it  he  hardly  spoke, 
and  a  perpetual  little  frown  creased  a  brow  usually 
so  serene.  In  the  early  morning  of  the  day  after 
Malloring  went  back  to  town,  he  crossed  the  road  to 
a  field  where  the  farmer,  aided  by  his  family  and  one 
of  Malloring's  gardeners,  was  already  carrying  the 
hay;  and,  taking  up  a  pitchfork,  without  a  word  to 
anybody,  he  joined  in  the  work.  The  action  was 
deeper  revelation  of  his  feeling  than  any  expostula- 
tion, and  the  young  people  watched  it  rather  aghast. 

"It's  nothing,"  Derek  said  at  last;  "Father  never 
has  understood,  and  never  will,  that  you  can't  get 
things  without  fighting.  He  cares  more  for  trees 
and  bees  and  birds  than  he  does  for  human  beings. " 

"That  doesn't  explain  why  he  goes  over  to  the 
enemy,  when  it's  only  a  lot  of  grass." 

Kirsteen  answered: 

"He  hasn't  gone  over  to  the  enemy,  Sheila.  You 
don't  understand  your  father;  to  neglect  the  land  is 
sacrilege  to  him.  It  feeds  us — he  would  say — we 

302 


THE  FREELANDS  303 

live  on  it;  we've  no  business  to  forget  that  but  for 
the  land  we  should  all  be  dead." 

"That's  beautiful,"  said  Nedda  quickly;  "and 
true." 

Sheila  answered  angrily: 

"It  may  be  true  in  France  with  their  bread  and 
wine.  People  don't  live  off  the  land  here;  they 
hardly  eat  anything  they  grow  themselves.  How 
can  we  feel  like  that  when  we're  all  brought  up 
on  mongrel  food?  Besides,  it's  simply  sentimental, 
when  there  are  real  wrongs  to  fight  about. " 

"Your  father  is  not  sentimental,  Sheila,  It's  too 
deep  with  him  for  that,  and  too  unconscious.  He 
simply  feels  so  unhappy  about  the  waste  of  that  hay 
that  he  can't  keep  his  hands  off  it. " 

Derek  broke  in:  "Mother's  right.  And  it  doesn't 
matter,  except  that  we've  got  to  see  that  the  men 
don't  follow  his  example.  They've  a  funny  feeling 
about  him. " 

,  Kirsteen  shook  her  head. 

"You  needn't  be  afraid.  He's  always  been  too 
strange  to  them!" 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  stiffen  their  backs.  Coming 
Sheila?"  And  they  went. 

Left,  as  she  seemed  always  to  be  in  these  days  of 
open  mutiny,  Nedda  said  sadly: 

"What  is  coming,  Aunt  Kirsteen?" 

Her  aunt  was  standing  in  the  porch,  looking 
straight  before  her;  a  trail  of  clematis  had  drooped 
over  her  fine  black  hair  down  on  to  the  blue  of  her 
linen  dress.  She  answered,  without  turning: 


304  THE  FREELANDS 

"Have  you  ever  seen,  on  jubilee  nights,  bonfire 
to  bonfire,  from  hill  to  hill,  to  the  end  of  the  land  ? 
This  is  the  first  lighted." 

Nedda  felt  something  clutch  her  heart.  What  was 
that  figure  in  blue?  Priestess?  Prophetess?  And 
for  a  moment  the  girl  felt  herself  swept  into  the  vision 
those  dark  glowing  eyes  were  seeing;  some  violent, 
exalted,  inexorable,  flaming  vision.  Then  some- 
thing within  her  revolted,  as  though  one  had  tried 
to  hypnotize  her  into  seeing  what  was  not  true;  as 
though  she  had  been  forced  for  the  moment  to  look, 
not  at  what  was  really  there,  but  at  what  those  eyes 
saw  projected  from  the  soul  behind  them.  And  she 
said  quietly: 

"I  don't  believe,  Aunt  Kirsteen.  I  don't  really 
believe.  I  think  it  must  go  out. " 

Kirsteen  turned. 

"You  are  like  your  father, "  she  said — "a  doubter. " 

Nedda  shook  her  head. 

"I  can't  persuade  myself  to  see  what  isn't  there. 
I  never  can,  Aunt  Kirsteen." 

Without  reply,  save  a  quiver  of  her  brows,  Kirsteen 
went  back  into  the  house.  And  Nedda  stayed  on  the 
pebbled  path  before  the  cottage,  unhappy,  searching 
her  own  soul.  Did  she  fail  to  see  because  she  was 
afraid  to  see,  because  she  was  too  dull  to  see;  or  be- 
cause, as  she  had  said,  there  was  really  nothing  there 
—no  flames  to  leap  from  hill  to  hill,  no  lift,  no  tearing 
in  the  sky  that  hung  over  the  land?  And  she 
thought:  ' London — all  those  big  towns,  their  smoke, 
the  things  they  make,  the  things  we  want  them  to 


THE  FREELANDS  305 

make,  that  we  shall  always  want  them  to  make. 
Aren't  they  there  ?  For  every  laborer  who's  a  slave 
Dad  says  there  are  five  town  workers  who  are  just 
as  much  slaves!  And  all  those  Bigwigs  with  their 
great  houses,  and  their  talk,  and  their  interest  in 
keeping  things  where  they  are !  Aren't  they  there? 
I  don't — I  can't  believe  anything  much  can  happen, 
or  be  changed.  Oh !  I  shall  never  see  visions,  and 
dream  dreams ! '  And  from  her  heart  she  sighed. 

In  the  meantime  Derek  and  Sheila  were  going  their 
round  on  bicycles,  to  stiffen  the  backs  of  the  laborers. 
They  had  hunted  lately,  always  in  a  couple,  de- 
siring no  complications,  having  decided  that  it  was 
less  likely  to  provoke  definite  assault  and  opposition 
from  the  farmers.  '  To  their  mother  was  assigned 
all  correspondence;  to  themselves  the  verbal  ex- 
hortations, the  personal  touch.  It  was  past  noon, 
and  they  were  already  returning,  when  they  came 
on  the  char-a-bancs  containing  the  head  of  the  strike- 
breaking column.  The  two  vehicles  were  drawn  up 
opposite  the  gate  leading  to  Marrow  Farm,  and  the 
agent  was  detaching  the  four  men  destined  to  that 
locality,  with  their  camping-gear.  By  the  open  gate 
the  farmer  stood  eying  his  new  material  askance. 
Dejected  enough  creatures  they  looked — poor  devils 
picked  up  at  ten  pound  the  dozen,  who,  by  the 
mingled  apathy  and  sheepish  amusement  on  their 
faces,  might  never  have  seen  a  pitchfork,  or  smelled  a 
field  of  clover,  in  their  lives. 

The  two  young  Freelands  rode  slowly  past;  the 
boy's  face  scornfully  drawn  back  into  itself;  the  girl's 
flaming  scarlet. 


306  THE  FREELANDS 

"Don't  take  notice."  Derek  said;  "we'll  soon  stop 
that." 

And  they  had  gone  another  mile  before  he  added: 
"We've  got  to  make  our  round  again;  that's  all." 
The  words  of  Mr.  Pogram,  'You  have  influence, 
young  man, '  were  just.  There  was  about  Derek  the 
sort  of  quality  that  belongs  to  the  good  regimental 
officer;  men  followed  and  asked  themselves  why  the 
devil  they  had,  afterward.  And  if  it  be  said  that  no 
worse  leader  than  a  fiery  young  fool  can  be  desired 
for  any  movement,  it  may  also  be  said  that  without 
youth  and  fire  and  folly  there  is  usually  no  move- 
ment at  all. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  they  returned  home,  dead 
beat.  That  evening  the  farmers  and  their  wives 
milked  the  cows,  tended  the  horses,  did  everything 
that  must  be  done,  not  without  curses.  And  next 
morning  the  men,  with  Gaunt  and  a  big,  dark  fellow, 
called  Tulley,  for  spokesmen,  again  proffered  their 
demand.  The  agent  took  counsel  with  Malloring 
by  wire.  His  answer,  "Concede  nothing,"  was 
communicated  to  the  men  in  the  afternoon,  and  re- 
ceived by  Gaunt  with  the  remark :  "  I  thart  we  should 
be  hearin'  that.  Please  to  thank  Sir  Gerald.  The 
men  concedes  their  gratitood."  .  .  . 

That  night  it  began  to  rain.  Nedda,  waking, 
could  hear  the  heavy  drops  pattering  on  the  sweet- 
brier  and  clematis  thatching  her  open  window.  The 
scent  of  rain-cooled  leaves  came  in  drifts,  and  it 
seemed  a  shame  to  sleep.  She  got  up;  put  on  her 
dressing-gown,  and  went  to  thrust  her  nose  into  that 
bath  of  dripping  sweetness.  Dark  as  the  clouds  had 


THE  FREELANDS  307 

made  the  night,  there  was  still  the  faint  light  of  a 
moon  somewhere  behind.  The  leaves  of  the  fruit- 
trees  joined  in  the  long,  gentle  hissing,  and  now  and 
again  rustled  and  sighed  sharply;  a  cock  somewhere, 
as  by  accident,  let  off  a  single  crow.  There  were  no 
stars.  All  was  dark  and  soft  as  velvet.  And  Nedda 
thought:  'The  world  is  dressed  in  living  creatures! 
Trees,  flowers,  grass,  insects,  ourselves — woven 
together — the  world  is  dressed  in  life  !  I  understand 
Uncle  Tod's  feeling !  If  only  it  would  rain  till  they 
have  to  send  these  strike-breakers  back  because 
there's  no  hay  worth  fighting  about!'  Suddenly 
her  heart  beat  fast.  The  wicket  gate  had  clicked. 
There  was  something  darker  than  the  darkness  com- 
ing along  the  path !  Scared,  but  with  all  protective 
instinct  roused,  she  leaned  out,  straining  to  see.  A 
faint  grating  sound  from  underneath  came  up  to  her. 
A  window  being  opened !  And  she  flew  to  her  door. 
She  neither  barred  it,  however,  nor  cried  out,  for  in 
that  second  it  had  flashed  across  her:  i Suppose  it's 
he !  Gone  out  to  do  something  desperate,  as  Tryst 
did ! '  If  it  were,  he  would  come  up-stairs  and  pass 
her  door,  going  to  his  room.  She  opened  it  an  inch, 
holding  her  breath.  At  first,  nothing !  Was  it 
fancy  ?  Or  was  some  one  noiselessly  rifling  the  room 
down-stairs  ?  But  surely  no  one  would  steal  of  Uncle 
Tod,  who,  everybody  knew,  had  nothing  valuable. 
Then  came  a  sound  as  of  bootless  feet  pressing  the 
stairs  stealthily !  And  the  thought  darted  through 
her,  'If  it  isn't  he,  what  shall  I  do?'  And  then— 
'  What  shaU  I  do— if  it  is  /' 


3o8  THE  FREELANDS 

Desperately  she  opened  the  door,  clasping  her 
hands  on  the  place  whence  her  heart  had  slipped  down 
to  her  bare  feet.  But  she  knew  it  was  he  before  she 
heard  him  whisper:  "Nedda!"  and,  clutching  him 
by  the  sleeve,  she  drew  him  in  and  closed  the  door. 
He  was  wet  through,  dripping;  so  wet  that  the  mere 
brushing  against  him  made  her  skin  feel  moist 
through  its  thin  coverings. 

"Where  have  you  been?  What  have  you  been 
doing?  Oh,  Derek!" 

There  was  just  light  enough  to  see  his  face,  his 
teeth,  the  whites  of  his  eyes. 

"Cutting  their  tent-ropes  in  the  rain.  Hoo- 
roosh!" 

It  was  such  a  relief  that  she  just  let  out  a  little 
gasping  "Oh!"  and  leaned  her  forehead  against  his 
coat.  Then  she  felt  his  wet  arms  round  her,  his  wet 
body  pressed  to  hers,  and  in  a  second  he  was  dancing 
w,ith  her  a  sort  of  silent,  ecstatic  war  dance.  Sud- 
denly he  stopped,  went  down  on  his  knees,  pressing 
his  face  to  her  waist,  and  whispering:  "What  a  brute, 
what  a  brute !  Making  her  wet !  Poor  little  Ned- 
da!" 

Nedda  bent  over  him;  her  hair  covered  his  wet 
head,  her  hands  trembled  on  his  shoulders.  Her 
heart  felt  as  if  it  would  melt  right  out  of  her;  she 
longed  so  to  warm  and  dry  him  with  herself.  And, 
in  turn,  his  wet  arms  clutched  her  close,  his  wet 
hands  could  not  keep  still  on  her.  Then  he  drew 
back,  and  whispering:  "Oh,  Nedda!  Nedda!"  fled 
out  like  a  dark  ghost.  Oblivious  that  she  was  damp 


THE  FREELANDS  309 

from  head  to  foot,  Nedda  stood  swaying,  her  eyes 
closed  and  her  lips  just  open;  then,  putting  out  her 
arms,  she  drew  them  suddenly  in  and  clasped  her- 
self. .  .  . 

When  she  came  down  to  breakfast  the  next 
morning,  he  had  gone  out  already,  and  Uncle  Tod, 
too;  her  aunt  was  writing  at  the  bureau.  Sheila 
greeted  her  gruffly,  and  almost  at  once  went  out. 
Nedda  swallowed  coffee,  ate  her  egg,  and  bread  and 
honey,  with  a  heavy  heart.  A  newspaper  lay  open 
on  the  table;  she  read  it  idly  till  these  words  caught 
her  eye: 

"  The  revolt  which  has  paralyzed  the  hay  harvest  on  Sir 
Gerald  Malloring's  Worcestershire  estate  and  led  to  the  in- 
troduction of  strike-breakers,  shows  no  sign  of  abatement. 
A  very  wanton  spirit  of  mischief  seems  to  be  abroad  in  this 
neighborhood.  No  reason  can  be  ascertained  for  the  arson 
committed  a  short  time  back,  nor  for  this  further  outbreak 
of  discontent.  The  economic  condition  of  the  laborers  on 
this  estate  is  admittedly  rather  above  than  below  the  aver- 
age." 

And  at  once  she  thought:  '  " Mischief !"  What  a 
shame ! '  Were  people,  then,  to  know  nothing  of  the 
real  cause  of  the  revolt — nothing  of  the  Tryst  evic- 
tion, the  threatened  eviction  of  the  Gaunts?  Were 
they  not  to  know  that  it  was  on  principle,  and  to 
protest  against  that  sort  of  petty  tyranny  to  the 
laborers  all  over  the  country,  that  this  rebellion  had 
been  started  ?  For  liberty  !  only  simple  liberty  not 
to  be  treated  as  though  they  had  no  minds  or  souls 
of  their  own — weren't  the  public  to  know  that?  If 


3io  THE  FREELANDS 

they  were  allowed  to  think  that  it  was  all  wanton 
mischief — that  Derek  was  just  a  mischief-maker — it 
would  be  dreadful !  Some  one  must  write  and  make 
this  known?  Her  father?  But  Dad  might  think 
it  too  personal — his  own  relations  !  Mr.  Cuthcott ! 
Into  whose  household  Wilmet  Gaunt  had  gone.  Ah ! 
Mr.  Cuthcott  who  had  told  her  that  he  was  always 
at  her  service !  Why  not  ?  And  the  thought  that 
she  might  really  do  something  at  last  to  help  made 
her  tingle  all  over.  If  she  borrowed  Sheila's  bicycle 
she  could  catch  the  nine-o'clock  train  to  London,  see 
him  herself,  make  him  do  something,  perhaps  even 
bring  him  back  with  her !  She  examined  her  purse. 
Yes,  she  had  money.  She  would  say  nothing,  here, 
because,  of  course,  he  might  refuse !  At  the  back  of 
her  mind  was  the  idea  that,  if  a  real  newspaper  rook 
the  part  of  the  laborers,  Derek's  position  would  no 
longer  be  so  dangerous;  he  would  be,  as  it  were, 
legally  recognized,  and  that,  in  itself,  would  make 
him  more  careful  and  responsible.  Whence  she  got 
this  belief  in  the  legalizing  power  of  the  press  it  is 
difficult  to  say,  unless  that,  reading  newspapers  but 
seldom,  she  still  took  them  at  their  own  valuation, 
and  thought  that  when  they  said :  "  We  shall  do  this, " 
or  "We  must  do  that,"  they  really  were  speaking 
for  the  country,  and  that  forty-five  millions  of  people 
were  deliberately  going  to  do  something,  whereas,  in 
truth,  as  was  known  to  those  older  than  Nedda,  they 
were  speaking,  and  not  too  conclusively  at  that,  for 
single  anonymous  gentlemen  in  a  hurry  who  were 
not  going  to  do  anything.  She  knew  that  the  press 


THE  FREELANDS  311 

had  power,  great  power — for  she  was  always  hearing 
that — and  it  had  not  occurred  to  her  as  yet  to  ex- 
amine the  composition  of  that  power  so  as  to  dis- 
cover that,  while  the  press  certainly  had  a  certain 
monopoly  of  expression,  and  that  same  '  spirit  of 
body'  which  makes  police  constables  swear  by  one 
another,  it  yet  contained  within  its  ring  fence  the 
sane  and  advisable  futility  of  a  perfectly  balanced 
contradiction;  so  that  its  only  functions,  practically 
speaking,  were  the  dissemination  of  news,  seven- 
tenths  of  which  would  have  been  happier  in  ob- 
scurity; and — ' irritation  of  the  Dutch!7  Not,  of 
course,  that  the  press  realized  this;  nor  was  it 
probable  that  any  one  would  tell  it,  for  it  had  power 
—great  power. 

She  caught  her  train — glowing  outwardly  from 
the  speed  of  her  ride,  and  inwardly  from  the  heat  of 
adventure  and  the  thought  that  at  last  she  was  being 
of  some  use. 

The  only  other  occupants  of  her  third-class  com- 
partment were  a  friendly  looking  man,  who  might 
have  been  a  sailor  or  other  wanderer  on  leave,  and 
his  thin,  dried-up,  black-clothed  cottage  woman  of 
an  old  mother.  They  sat  opposite  each  other.  The 
son  looked  at  his  mother  with  beaming  eyes,  and  she 
remarked:  "An'  I  says  to  him,  says  I,  I  says, 
'What?'  I  says;  so  'e  says  to  me,  he  says,  'Yes/  he 
says;  'that's  what  I  say,'  he  says."  And  Nedda 
thought:  'What  an  old  dear!  And  the  son  looks 
nice  too;  I  do  like  simple  people.' 

They  got  out  at  the  first  stop  and  she  journeyed 


3I2  THE  FREELANDS 

on  alone.  Taking  a  taxicab  from  Paddington,  she 
drove  toward  Gray's  Inn.  But  now  that  she  was  get- 
ting close  she  felt  very  nervous.  Ho\\  expect  a  busy 
man  like  Mr.  Cuthcott  to  spare  time  to  come  down 
all  that  way  ?  It  would  be  something,  though,  if  she 
could  get  him  even  to  understand  what  was  really 
happening,  and  why;  so  that  he  could  contradict 
that  man  in  the  other  paper.  It  must  be  wonderful 
to  be  writing,  daily,  what  thousands  and  thousands 
of  people  read !  Yes !  It  must  be  a  very  sacred- 
feeling  life !  To  be  able  to  say  things  in  that  par- 
ticularly authoritative  way  which  must  take  such  a 
lot  of  people  in — that  is,  make  such  a  lot  of  people 
think  in  the  same  way !  It  must  give  a  man  a  terri- 
ble sense  of  responsibility,  make  him  feel  that  he 
simply  must  be  noble,  even  if  he  naturally  wasn't. 
Yes !  it  must  be  a  wonderful  profession,  and  only  fit 
for  the  highest !  In  addition  to  Mr.  Cuthcott,  she 
knew  as  yet  but  three  young  journalists,  and  those 
all  weekly. 

At  her  timid  ring  the  door  was  opened  by  a  broad- 
cheeked  girl,  enticingly  compact  in  apron  and  black 
frock,  whose  bright  color,  thick  lips,  and  rogue  eyes 
came  of  anything  but  London.  It  flashed  across 
Nedda  that  this  must  be  the  girl  for  whose  sake  she 
had  faced  Mr.  Cuthcott  at  the  luncheon-table !  And 
she  said:  "Are  you  Wilmet  Gaunt?" 

The  girl  smiled  till  her  eyes  almost  disappeared, 
and  answered:  "Yes,  miss." 

"I'm  Nedda  Freeland,  Miss  Sheila's  cousin.  I've 
just  come  from  Joyfields.  How  are  you  getting  on  ?  " 


THE  FREELANDS  313 

"  Fine,  thank  you,  miss.     Plenty  of  life  here. ' ' 

Nedda  thought:  'That's  what  Derek  said  of  her. 
Bursting  with  life !  And  so  she  is. '  And  she  gazed 
doubtfully  at  the  girl,  whose  prim  black  dress  and 
apron  seemed  scarcely  able  to  contain  her. 

"Is  Mr.  Cuthcott  in?" 

"No,  miss;  he'll  be  down  at  the  paper.  Two 
hundred  and  five  Floodgate  Street. " 

'Oh!'  thought  Nedda  with  dismay;  'I  shall  never 
venture  there ! '  And  glancing  once  more  at  the  girl, 
whose  rogue  slits  of  eyes,  deep  sunk  between  cheek- 
bones and  brow,  seemed  to  be  quizzing  her  and  say- 
ing: 'You  and  Mr.  Derek — oh!  I  know!'  she  went 
sadly  away.  And  first  she  thought  she  would  go 
home  to  Hampstead,  then  that  she  would  go  back  to 
the  station,  then:  'After  all,  why  shouldn't  I  go  and 
try  ?  They  can't  eat  me.  I  will ! ' 

She  reached  her  destination  at  the  luncheon-hour, 
so  that  the  offices  of  the  great  evening  journal  were 
somewhat  deserted.  Producing  her  card,  she  was 
passed  from  hand  to  hand  till  she  rested  in  a  small 
bleak  apartment  where  a  young  woman  was  typing 
fast.  She  longed  to  ask  her  how  she  liked  it,  but 
did  not  dare.  The  whole  atmosphere  seemed  to 
her  charged  with  a  strenuous  solemnity,  as  though 
everything  said,  'We  have  power — great  power.' 
And  she  waited,  sitting  by  the  window  which  faced 
the  street.  On  the  buildings  opposite  she  could  read 
the  name  of  another  great  evening  journal.  Why, 
it  was  the  one  which  had  contained  the  paragraph 
she  had  read  at  breakfast !  She  had  bought  a  copy 


314  THE  FREELANDS 

of  it  at  the  station.  Its  temperament,  she  knew,  was 
precisely  opposed  to  that  of  Mr.  Cuthcott's  paper. 
Over  in  that  building,  no  doubt  there  would  be  the 
same  strenuously  loaded  atmosphere,  so  that  if  they 
opened  the  windows  on  both  sides  little  puffs  of 
power  would  meet  in  mid-air,  above  the  heads  of  the 
passers-by,  as  might  the  broadsides  of  old  three- 
deckers,  above  the  green,  green  sea. 

And  for  the  first  time  an  inkling  of  the  great  comic 
equipoise  in  Floodgate  Street  and  human  affairs 
stole  on  Nedda's  consciousness.  They  puffed  and 
puffed,  and  only  made  smoke  in  the  middle !  That 
must  be  why  Dad  always  called  them:  ' Those  fel- 
lows ! '  She  had  scarcely,  however,  finished  be- 
ginning to  think  these  thoughts  when  a  handbell 
sounded  sharply  in  some  adjoining  room,  and  the 
young  woman  nearly  fell  into  her  typewriter.  Read- 
justing her  balance,  she  rose,  and,  going  to  the  door, 
passed  out  in  haste.  Through  the  open  doorway 
Nedda  could  see  a  large  and  pleasant  room,  whose 
walls  seemed  covered  with  prints  of  men  standing  in 
attitudes  such  that  she  was  almost  sure  they  were 
statesmen;  and,  at  a  table  in  the  centre,  the  back  of 
Mr.  Cuthcott  in  a  twiddly  chair,  surrounded  by 
sheets  of  paper  reposing  on  the  floor,  shining  like 
I  autumn  leaves  on  a  pool  of  water.  She  heard  his 
voice,  smothery,  hurried,  but  still  pleasant,  say: 
"Take  these,  Miss  Mayne,  take  these!  Begin  on 
them,  begin!  Confound  it!  What's  the  time?" 
And  the  young  woman's  voice:  "Half  past  one,  Mr. 
Cuthcott!"  And  a  noise  from  Mr.  Cuthcott's 


THE  FREELANDS  315 

throat  that  sounded  like  an  adjuration  to  the  Deity 
not  to  pass  over  something.  Then  the  young  woman 
dipped  and  began  gathering  those  leaves  of  paper, 
and  over  her  comely  back  Nedda  had  a  clear  view 
of  Mr.  Cuthcott  hunching  one  brown  shoulder  as 
though  warding  something  off,  and  of  one  of  his  thin 
hands  ploughing  up  and  throwing  back  his  brown 
hair  on  one  side,  and  heard  the  sound  of  his  furiously 
scratching  pen.  And  her  heart  pattered;  it  was  so 
clear  that  he  was  i giving  them  one'  and  had  no  time 
for  her.  And  involuntarily  she  looked  at  the  windows 
beyond  him  to  see  if  there  were  any  puffs  of  power 
issuing  therefrom.  But  they  were  closed.  She  saw 
the  young  woman  rise  and  come  back  toward  her, 
putting  the  sheets  of  paper  in  order;  and,  as  the  door 
was  closing,  from  the  twiddly  chair  a  noise  that 
seemed  to  couple  God  with  the  condemnation  of  silly 
souls.  When  the  young  woman  was  once  more  at 
the  typewriter  she  rose  and  said:  "Have  you  given 
him  my  card  yet?" 

The  young  woman  looked  at  her  surprised,  as  if 
she  had  broken  some  rule  of  etiquette,  and  answered: 
"No." 

"  Then  don't,  please.  I  can  see  that  he's  too  busy. 
I  won't  wait. " 

The  young  woman  abstractedly  placed  a  sheet  of 
paper  in  her  typewriter. 

"Very  well, "  she  said.     " Good  morning ! " 

And  before  Nedda  reached  the  door  she  heard  the 
click-click  of  the  machine,  reducing  Mr.  Cuthcott 
to  legibility. 


316  THE  FREELANDS 

'I  was  stupid  to  come/  she  thought.  'He  must 
be  terribly  overworked.  Poor  man !  He  does  say 
lovely  things ! '  And,  crestfallen,  she  went  along  the 
passages,  and  once  more  out  into  Floodgate  Street. 
She  walked  along  it  frowning,  till  a  man  who  was 
selling  newspapers  said  as  she  passed:  "Mind  ye 
don't  smile,  lydy!" 

Seeing  that  he  was  selling  Mr.  Cuthcott's  paper, 
she  felt  for  a  com  to  buy  one,  and,  while  searching, 
scrutinized  the  newsvender's  figure,  almost  entirely 
hidden  by  the  words : 

GREAT  HOUSING  SCHEME 
HOPE  FOR  THE  MILLION  I 

on  a  buff-colored  board;  while  above  it,  his  face,  that 
had  not  quite  blood  enough  to  be  scorbutic,  was 
wrapped  in  the  expression  of  those  philosophers  to 
whom  a  hope  would  be  fatal.  He  was,  in  fact,  just 
what  he  looked — a  street  stoic.  And  a  dim  percep- 
tion of  the  great  social  truth:  "The  smell  of  half  a 
loaf  is  not  better  than  no  bread !"  flickered  in  Ned- 
da's  brain  as  she  passed  on.  Was  that  what  Derek 
was  doing  with  the  laborers — giving  them  hah"  the 
smell  of  a  liberty  that  was  not  there?  And  a  sud- 
den craving  for  her  father  came  over  her.  He — he 
only,  was  any  good,  because  he,  only,  loved  her 
enough  to  feel  how  distracted  and  unhappy  she  was 
feeling,  how  afraid  of  what  was  coming.  So,  making 
for  a  Tube  station,  she  took  train  to  Hampstead.  .  .  . 
It  was  past  two,  and  Felix,  on  the  point  of  his 


THE  FREELANDS  317 

constitutional.  He  had  left  Becket  the  day  after 
Nedda's  rather  startling  removal  to  Joyfields,  and 
since  then  had  done  his  level  best  to  put  the  whole 
Tryst  affair,  with  all  its  somewhat  sinister  relevance 
to  her  life  and  his  own,  out  of  his  mind  as  something 
beyond  control.  He  had  but  imperfectly  succeeded. 
Flora,  herself  not  too  present-minded,  had  in  these 
days  occasion  to  speak  to  him  about  the  absent- 
minded  way  in  which  he  fulfilled  even  the  most  do- 
mestic duties,  and  Alan  was  always  saying  to  him, 
"Buck  up,  Dad!"  With  Nedda's  absorption  into 
the  little  Joyfields  whirlpool,  the  sun  shone  but 
dimly  for  Felix.  And  a  somewhat  febrile  attention 
to  'The  Last  of  the  Laborers'  had  not  brought  it  up 
to  his  expectations.  He  fluttered  under  his  buff 
waistcoat  when  he  saw  her  coming  in  at  the  gate. 
She  must  want  something  of  him  !  For  to  this  pitch 
of  resignation,  as  to  his  little  daughter's  love  for  him, 
had  he  come !  And  if  she  wanted  something  of  him, 
things  would  be  going  wrong  again  down  there ! 
Nor  did  the  warmth  of  her  embrace,  and  her:  "Oh ! 
Dad,  it  is  nice  to  see  you !"  remove  that  instinctive 
conviction;  though  delicacy,  born  of  love,  forbade 
him  to  ask  her  what  she  wanted.  Talking  of  the 
sky  and  other  matters,  thinking  how  pretty  she  was 
looking,  he  waited  for  the  new,  inevitable  proof  that 
youth  was  first,  and  a  mere  father  only  second  fiddle 
now.  A  note  from  Stanley  had  already  informed 
him  of  the  strike.  The  news  had  been  something 
of  a  relief.  Strikes,  at  all  events,  were  respectable 
and  legitimate  means  of  protest,  and  to  hear  that 


3i8  THE  FREELANDS 

one  was  in  progress  had  not  forced  him  out  of  his 
laborious  attempt  to  believe  the  whole  affair  only  a 
mole-hill.  He  had  not,  however,  heard  of  the  strike- 
breakers, nor  had  he  seen  any  newspaper  mention 
of  the  matter;  and  when  she  had  shown  him  the 
paragraph;  recounted  her  visit  to  Mr.  Cuthcott,  and 
how  she  had  wanted  to  take  him  back  with  her  to  see 
for  himself — he  waited  a  moment,  then  said  almost 
timidly:  "Should  /  be  of  any  use,  my  dear?"  She 
flushed  and  squeezed  his  hand  in  silence;  and  he 
knew  he  would. 

When  he  had  packed  a  handbag  and  left  a  note 
for  Flora,  he  rejoined  her  in  the  hall. 

It  was  past  seven  when  they  reached  their  des- 
tination, and,  taking  the  station  'fly/  drove  slowly 
up  to  Joyfields,  under  a  showery  sky. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

WHEN  Felix  and  Nedda  reached  Tod's  cottage, 
the  three  little  Trysts,  whose  activity  could  never  be 
quite  called  play,  were  all  the  living  creatures  about 
the  house. 

"Where  is  Mrs.  Freeland,  Biddy?" 

"We  don't  know;  a  man  came,  and  she  went." 

"And  Miss  Sheila?" 

"She  went  out  in  the  mornin'.  And  Mr.  Free- 
land's  gone." 

Susie  added:  "The  dog's  gone,  too." 

"Then  help  me  to  get  some  tea." 

"Yes." 

With  the  assistance  of  the  mother-child,  and  the 
hindrance  of  Susie  and  Billy,  Nedda  made  and  laid 
tea,  with  an  anxious  heart.  The  absence  of  her 
aunt,  who  so  seldom  went  outside  the  cottage,  fields, 
and  orchard,  disturbed  her;  and,  while  Felix  re- 
freshed himself,  she  fluttered  several  times  on  vary- 
ing pretexts  to  the  wicket  gate. 

At  her  third  visit,  from  the  direction  of  the  church, 
she  saw  figures  coming  on  the  road — dark  figures 
carrying  something,  followed  by  others  walking 
alongside.  What  sun  there  had  been  had  quite  given 
in  to  heavy  clouds;  the  light  was  dull,  the  elm- trees 
dark;  and  not  till  they  were  within  two  hundred 

319 


3  20  THE  FREELANDS 

yards  could  Nedda  make  out  that  these  were  figures 
of  policemen.  Then,  alongside  that  which  they  were 
carrying,  she  saw  her  aunt's  blue  dress.  What  were 
they  carrying  like  that?  She  dashed  down  the 
steps,  and  stopped.  No !  If  it  were  he  they  would 
bring  him  in!  She  rushed  back  again,  distracted. 
She  could  see  now  a  form  stretched  on  a  hurdle.  It 
was  he ! 

"Dad!    Quick!" 

Felix  came,  startled  at  that  cry,  to  find  his  little 
daughter  on  the  path  wringing  her  hands  and  flying 
back  to  the  wicket  gate.  They  were  close  now.  She 
saw  them  begin  to  mount  the  steps,  those  behind 
raising  their  arms  so  that  the  hurdle  should  be  level. 
Derek  lay  on  his  back,  with  head  and  forehead 
swathed  in  wet  blue  linen,  torn  from  his  mother's 
skirt;  and  the  rest  of  his  face  very  white.  He  lay 
quite  still,  his  clothes  covered  with  mud.  Terrified, 
Nedda  plucked  at  Kirsteen's  sleeve. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Concussion ! "  The  stiUness  of  that  blue-clothed 
figure,  so  calm  beside  her,  gave  her  strength  to  say 
quietly: 

"Put  him  in  my  room,  Aunt  Kirsteen;  there's 
more  air  there ! "  And  she  flew  up-stairs,  flinging 
wide  her  door,  making  the  bed  ready,  snatching  her 
night  tilings  from  the  pillow;  pouring  out  cold  water, 
sprinkling  the  air  with  eau  de  cologne.  Then  she 
stood  still.  Perhaps,  they  would  not  bring  him 
there?  Yes,  they  were  coming  up.  They  brought 
him  in,  and  laid  him  on  the  bed.  She  heard  one 


THE  FREELANDS  321 

say:  "Doctor  11  be  here  directly,  ma'am.  Let  him 
lie  quiet."  Then  she  and  his  mother  were  alone 
beside  him. 

"Undo  his  boots,"  said  Kirsteen. 

Nedda's  ringers  trembled,  and  she  hated  them  for 
fumbling  so,  while  she  drew  of!  those  muddy  boots. 
Then  her  aunt  said  softly:  "Hold  him  up,  dear,  while 
I  get  his  things  off. " 

And,  with  a  strange  rapture  that  she  was  allowed 
to  hold  him  thus,  she  supported  him  against  her 
breast  till  he  was  freed  and  lying  back  inert.  Then, 
and  only  then,  she  whispered: 

"How  long  before  he ?" 

Kirsteen  shook  her  head;  and,  slipping  her  arm 
round  the  girl,  murmured:  "Courage,  Nedda!" 

The  girl  felt  fear  and  love  rush  up  desperately  to 
overwhelm  her.  She  choked  them  back,  and  said 
quite  quietly:  "I  will.  I  promise.  Only  let  me 
help  nurse  him !" 

Kirsteen  nodded.     And  they  sat  down  to  wait. 

That  quarter  of  an  hour  was  the  longest  of  her 
'life.  To  see  him  thus,  living,  yet  not  living,  with 
the  spirit  driven  from  him  by  a  cruel  blow,  perhaps 
never  to  come  back !  Curious,  how  things  still  got 
themselves  noticed  when  all  her  faculties  were  cen- 
tred in  gazing  at  his  face.  She  knew  that  it  was 
raining  again;  heard  the  swish  and  drip,  and  smelled 
the  cool  wet  perfume  through  the  scent  of  the  eau  de 
cologne  that  she  had  spilled.  She  noted  her  aunt's 
arm,  as  it  hovered,  wetting  the  bandage;  the  veins 
and  rounded  whiteness  from  under  the  loose  blue 


322  THE  FREELANDS 

sleeve  slipped  up  to  the  elbow.  One  of  his  feet  lay 
close  to  her  at  the  bed's  edge;  she  stole  her  hand 
beneath  the  sheet.  That  foot  felt  very  cold,  and 
she  grasped  it  tight.  If  only  she  could  pass  life  into 
him  through  her  hot  hand.  She  heard  the  ticking 
of  her  little  travelling-clock,  and  was  conscious  of 
flies  wheeling  close  up  beneath  the  white  ceiling,  of 
how  one  by  one  they  darted  at  each  other,  making 
swift  zigzags  in  the  air.  And  something  in  her  she 
had  not  yet  known  came  welling  up,  softening  her 
eyes,  her  face,  even  the  very  pose  of  her  young  body — 
the  hidden  passion  of  a  motherliness,  that  yearned 
so  to  'kiss  the  place,'  to  make  him  well,  to  nurse  and 
tend,  restore  and  comfort  him.  And  with  all  her 
might  she  watched  the  movements  of  those  rounded 
arms  under  the  blue  sleeves — how  firm  and  .exact 
they  were,  how  soft  and  quiet  and  swift,  bathing 
the  dark  head !  Then  from  beneath  the  bandage 
she  caught  sight  suddenly  of  his  eyes.  And  her 
heart  turned  sick.  Oh,  they  were  not  quite  closed ! 
As  if  he  hadn't  life  enough  to  close  them !  She  bit 
into  her  lip  to  stop  a  cry.  It  was  so  terrible  to  see 
them  without  light.  Why  did  not  that  doctor  come  ? 
Over  and  over  and  over  again  within  her  the  prayer 
turned:  Let  him  live!  Oh,  let  him  live! 

The  blackbirds  out  in  the  orchard  were  tuning 
up  for  evening.  It  seemed  almost  dreadful  they 
should  be  able  to  sing  like  that.  All  the  world  was 
going  on  just  the  same !  If  he  died,  the  world  would 
have  no  more  light  for  her  than  there  was  now  in 
his  poor  eyes — and  yet  it  would  go  on  the  same ! 


THE  FREELANDS  323 

How  was  that  possible?  It  was  not  possible,  be- 
cause she  would  die  too  !  She  saw  her  aunt  turn  her 
head  like  a  startled  animal;  some  one  was  coming 
up  the  stairs !  It  was  the  doctor,  wiping  his  wet  face 
— a  young  man  in  gaiters.  How  young — dreadfully 
young !  No;  there  was  a  little  gray  at  the  sides  of 
his  hair!  What  would  he  say?  And  Nedda  sat 
with  hands  tight  clenched  in  her  lap,  motionless  as  a 
young  crouching  sphinx.  An  interminable  testing, 
and  questioning,  and  answer!  Never  smoked — 
never  drank — never  been  ill !  The  blow — ah,  here ! 
Just  here !  Concussion — yes  !  Then  long  staring 
into  the  eyes,  the  eyelids  lifted  between  thumb  and 
finger.  And  at  last  (how  could  he  talk  so  loud ! 
Yet  it  was  a  comfort  too — he  would  not  talk  like 
that  if  Derek  were  going  to  die  !) — Hair  cut  shorter- 
ice — watch  him  like  a  lynx !  This  and  that,  if  he 
came  to.  Nothing  else  to  be  done.  And  then  those 
blessed  words: 

"But  don't  worry  too  much.  I  think  it'll  be  all 
right."  She  could  not  help  a  little  sigh  escaping 
her  clenched  teeth. 

The  doctor  was  looking  at  her.  His  eyes  were 
nice. 

"Sister?" 

"Cousin." 

"  Ah !  Well,  I'll  get  back  now,  and  send  you  out 
some  ice,  at  once. " 

More  talk  outside  the  door.  Nedda,  alone  with 
her  lover,  crouched  forward  on  her  knees,  and  put 
her  lips  to  his.  They  were  not  so  cold  as  his  foot, 


324  THE  FREELANDS 

and  the  first  real  hope  and  comfort  came  to  her. 
Watch  him  like  a  lynx — wouldn't  she?  But  how 
had  it  all  happened?  And  where  was  Sheila?  and 
Uncle  Tod? 

Her  aunt  had  come  back  and  was  stroking  her 
shoulder.  There  had  been  fighting  in  the  barn  at 
Marrow  Farm.  They  had  arrested  Sheila.  Derek 
had  jumped  down  to  rescue  her  and  struck  his  head 
against  a  grindstone.  Her  uncle  had  gone  with 
Sheila.  They  would  watch,  turn  and  turn  about. 
Nedda  must  go  now  and  eat  something,  and  get 
ready  to  take  the  watch  from  eight  to  midnight. 

Following  her  resolve  to  make  no  fuss,  the  girl 
went  out.  The  police  had  gone.  ,  The  mother-child 
was  putting  her  little  folk  to  bed;  and  in  the  kitchen 
Felix  was  arranging  the  wherewithal  to  eat.  He 
made  her  sit  down  and  kept  handing  things;  watching 
like  a  cat  to  see  that  she  put  them  in  her  mouth,  in 
the  way  from  which  only  Flora  had  suffered  hitherto; 
he  seemed  so  anxious  and  unhappy,  and  so  awfully 
sweet,  that  Nedda  forced  herself  to  swallow  what 
she  thought  would  never  go  down  a  dry  and  choky 
throat.  He  kept  coming  up  and  touching  her  shoul- 
der or  forehead.  Once  he  said: 

"It's  all  right,  you  know,  my  pet;  concussion  often 
takes  two  days." 

Two  days  with  his  eyes  like  that !  The  consola- 
tion was  not  so  vivid  as  Felix  might  have  wished; 
but  she  quite  understood  that  he  was  doing  his  best 
to  give  it.  She  suddenly  remembered  that  he  had  no 
room  to  sleep  in.  He  must  use  Derek's.  No!  That, 


THE  FREELANDS  325 

it  appeared,  was  to  be  for  her  when  she  came  off  duty. 
Felix  was  going  to  have  an  all-night  sitting  in  the 
kitchen.  He  had  been  looking  forward  to  an  all- 
night  sitting  for  many  years,  and  now  he  had  got  his 
chance.  It  was  a  magnificent  opportunity — "with- 
out your  mother,  my  dear,  to  insist  on  my  sleeping. " 
And  staring  at  his  smile,  Nedda  thought:  'He's  like 
Granny — he  comes  out  under  difficulties.  If  only 
I  did!' 

The  ice  arrived  by  motor-cycle  just  before  her 
watch  began.  It  was  some  comfort  to  have  that 
definite  thing  to  see  to.  How  timorous  and  humble 
are  thoughts  in  a  sick-room,  above  all  when  the  sick 
are  stretched  behind  the  muffle  of  unconsciousness, 
withdrawn  from  the  watcher  by  half-death !  And 
yet,  for  him  or  her  who  loves,  there  is  at  least  the 
sense  of  being  alone  with  the  loved  one,  of  doing 
all  that  can  be  done;  and  in  some  strange  way  of 
twining  hearts  with  the  exiled  spirit.  To  Nedda, 
sitting  at  his  feet,  and  hardly  ever  turning  eyes  away 
from  his  still  face,  it  sometimes  seemed  that  the 
flown  spirit  was  there  beside  her.  And  she  saw  into 
his  soul  in  those  hours  of  watching,  as  one  looking 
into  a  stream  sees  the  leopard-like  dapple  of  its  sand 
and  dark-strewn  floor,  just  reached  by  sunlight. 
She  saw  all  his  pride,  courage,  and  impatience,  his 
reserve,  and  strange  unwilling  tenderness,  as  she  had 
never  seen  them.  And  a  queer  dreadful  feeling 
moved  her  that  in  some  previous  existence  she  had 
looked  at  that  face  dead  on  a  field  of  battle,  frowning 
up  at  the  stars.  That  was  absurd — there  were  no 


326  THE  FREELANDS 

previous  existences!    Or  was  it  prevision  of  what 
would  come  some  day? 

When,  at  half  past  nine,  the  light  began  to  fail,  she 
lighted  two  candles  in  tall,  thin,  iron  candlesticks 
beside  her.  They  burned  without  flicker,  those 
spires  of  yellow  flame,  slowly  conquering  the  dying 
twilight,  till  in  their  soft  radiance  the  room  was  full 
of  warm  dusky  shadows,  the  night  outside  ever  a 
deeper  black.  Two  or  three  times  his  mother  came, 
looked  at  him,  asked  her  if  she  should  stay,  and,  re- 
ceiving a  little  silent  shake  of  the  head,  went  away 
again.  At  eleven  o'clock,  when  once  more  she 
changed  the  ice-cap,  his  eyes  had  still  no  lustre,  and 
for  a  moment  her  courage  failed  her  utterly.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  he  could  never  win  back,  that 
death  possessed  the  room  already,  possessed  those 
candle-flames,  the  ticking  of  the  clock,  the  dark, 
dripping  night,  possessed  her  heart.  Could  he  be 
gone  before  she  had  been  his !  Gone !  Where  ? 
She  sank  down  on  her  knees,  covering  her  eyes. 
What  good  to  watch,  if  he  were  never  coming  back ! 
A  long  time — it  seemed  hours — passed  thus,  with  the 
feeling  growing  deeper  in  her  that  no  good  would 
come  while  she  was  watching.  And  behind  the 
barrier  of  her  hands  she  tried  desperately  to  rally 
courage.  If  things  were — they  were!  One  must 
look  them  in  the  face !  She  took  her  hands  away. 
His  eyes!  Was  it  light  in  them?  Was  it?  They 
were  seeing — surely  they  saw.  And  his  lips  made 
the  tiniest  movement.  In  that  turmoil  of  exulta- 
tion she  never  knew  how  she  managed  to  continue 


THE  FREELANDS  327 

kneeling  there,  with  her  hands  on  his.  But  all  her 
soul  shone  down  to  him  out  of  her  eyes,  and  drew 
and  drew  at  his  spirit  struggling  back  from  the  depths 
of  him.  For  many  minutes  that  struggle  lasted; 
then  he  smiled.  It  was  the  feeblest  smile  that  ever 
was  on  lips,  but  it  made  the  tears  pour  down  Nedda's 
cheeks  and  trickle  of!  on  to  his  hands.  Then,  with  a 
stoicism  that  she  could  not  believe  in,  so  hopelessly 
unreal  it  seemed,  so  utterly  the  negation  of  the 
tumult  within  her,  she  settled  back  again  at  his  feet 
to  watch  and  not  excite  him.  And  still  his  lips 
smiled  that  faint  smile,  and  his  opened  eyes  grew 
dark  and  darker  with  meaning. 

So  at  midnight  Kirsteen  found  them. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

IN  the  early  hours  of  his  all-night  sitting  Felix 
had  first  only  memories,  and  then  Kirsteen  for  com- 
panion. 

"I  worry  most  about  Tod,"  she  said.  "He  had 
that  look  in  his  face  when  he  went  off  from  Marrow 
Farm.  He  might  do  something  terrible  if  they  ill- 
treat  Sheila.  If  only  she  has  sense  enough  to  see  and 
not  provoke  them. " 

"Surely  she  will,"  Felix  murmured. 

"Yes,  if  she  realizes.  But  she  won't,  I'm  afraia 
Even  I  have  only  known  him  look  like  that  three 
times.  Tod  is  so  gentle — passion  stores  itself  in  him; 
and  when  it  comes,  it's  awful.  If  he  sees  cruelty,  he 
goes  almost  mad.  Once  he  would  have  killed  a  man 
if  I  hadn't  got  between  them.  He  doesn't  know 
what  he's  doing  at  such  moments.  I  wish — I  wish 
he  were  back.  It's  hard  one  can't  pierce  through, 
and  see  him." 

Gazing  at  her  eyes  so  dark  and  intent,  Felix 
thought:  'If  you  can't  pierce  through — none  can.' 

He  learned  the  story  of  the  disaster. 

Early  that  morning  Derek  had  assembled  twenty 
of  the  strongest  laborers,  and  taken  them  a  round 
of  the  farms  to  force  the  strike-breakers  to  desist. 
There  had  been  several  fights,  in  all  of  which  the 

328 


THE  FREELANDS  329 

strike-breakers  had  been  beaten.  Derek  himself 
had  fought  three  times.  In  the  afternoon  the  police 
had  come,  and  the  laborers  had  rushed  with  Derek 
and  Sheila,  who  had  joined  them,  into  a  barn  at 
Marrow  Farm,  barred  it,  and  thrown  mangolds  at 
the  police,  when  they  tried  to  force  an  entrance. 
One  by  one  the  laborers  had  slipped  away  by  a  rope 
out  of  a  ventilation-hole  high  up  at  the  back,  and 
they  had  just  got  Sheila  down  when  the  police  ap- 
peared on  that  side,  too.  Derek,  who  had  stayed 
to  the  last,  covering  their  escape  with  mangolds,  had 
jumped  down  twenty  feet  when  he  saw  them  taking 
Sheila,  and,  pitching  forward,  hit  his  head  against 
a  grindstone.  Then,  just  as  they  were  marching 
Sheila  and  two  of  the  laborers  away,  Tod  had  arrived 
and  had  fallen  in  alongside  the  policemen — he  and 
the  dog.  It  was  then  she  had  seen  that  look  on  his 
face. 

Felix,  who  had  never  beheld  his  big  brother  in 
Berserk  mood,  could  offer  no  consolation;  nor  had  he 
the  heart  to  adorn  the  tale,  and  inflict  on  this  poor 
woman  his  reflection:  'This,  you  see,  is  what  comes  of 
the  ferment  you  have  fostered.  This  is  the  reward  of 
violence !'  He  longed,  rather,  to  comfort  her;  she 
seemed  so  lonely  and,  in  spite  of  all  her  stoicism,  so 
distraught  and  sad.  His  heart  went  out,  too,  to  Tod. 
How  would  he  himself  have  felt,  walking  by  the  side 
of  policemen  whose  arms  were  twisted  in  Nedda's ! 
But  so  mixed  are  the  minds  of  men  that  at  this  very 
moment  there  was  born  within  him  the  germ  of  a  real 
revolt  against  the  entry  of  his  little  daughter  into 


330  THE  FREELANDS 

this  family  of  hotheads.  It  was  more  now  than  mere 
soreness  and  jealousy;  it  was  fear  of  a  danger  hitherto 
but  sniffed  at,  but  now  only  too  sharply  savored. 

When  she  left  him  to  go  up-stairs,  Felix  stayed 
consul  ting  the  dark  night.  As  ever,  in  hours  of 
ebbed  vitality,  the  shapes  of  fear  and  doubt  grew 
clearer  and  more  positive;  they  loomed  huge  out 
there  among  the  apple-trees,  where  the  drip-drip 
of  the  rain  made  music.  But  his  thoughts  were  still 
nebulous,  not  amounting  to  resolve.  It  was  no 
moment  for  resolves — with  the  boy  lying  up  there  be- 
tween the  tides  of  chance;  and  goodness  knew  what 
happening  to  Tod  and  Sheila.  The  air  grew  sharper; 
he  withdrew  to  the  hearth,  where  a  wood  fire  still 
burned,  gray  ash,  red  glow,  scent  oozing  from  it. 
And  while  he  crouched  there,  blowing  it  with  bel- 
lows, he  heard  soft  footsteps,  and  saw  Nedda  stand- 
ing behind  him  transformed. 

But  in  the  midst  of  all  his  glad  sympathy  Felix 
could  not  help  thinking:  ' Better  for  you,  perhaps, 
if  he  had  never  returned  from  darkness ! ' 

She  came  and  crouched  down  by  him. 

"Let  me  sit  with  you,  Dad.     It  smells  so  good." 

"Very  well;  but  you  must  sleep." 

"I  don't  believe  I'll  ever  want  to  sleep  again. " 

And  at  the  glow  in  her  Felix  glowed  too.  What  is 
so  infectious  as  delight  ?  They  sat  a  long  time  talk- 
ing, as  they  had  not  talked  since  the  first  fatal  visit 
to  Becket.  Of  how  love,  and  mountains,  works  of 
art,  and  doing  things  for  others  were  the  only  sources 
of  happiness;  except  scents,  and  lying  on  one's  back 


THE  FREELANDS  331^ 

looking  through  tree- tops  at  the  sky;  and  tea,  and 
sunlight,  flowers,  and  hard  exercise;  oh,  and  the  sea ! 
Of  how,  when  things  went  hard,  one  prayed — but 
what  did  one  pray  to  ?  Was  it  not  to  something  in 
oneself  ?  It  was  of  no  use  to  pray  to  the  great  mys- 
terious Force  that  made  one  thing  a  cabbage,  and 
the  other  a  king;  for  That  could  obviously  not  be 
weak-minded  enough  to  attend.  And  gradually 
little  pauses  began  to  creep  into  their  talk;  then  a  big 
pause,  and  Nedda,  who  would  never  want  to  sleep 
again,  was  fast  asleep. 

Felix  watched  those  long,  dark  lashes  resting  on 
her  cheeks;  the  slow,  soft  rise  of  her  breast;  the  touch- 
ing look  of  trust  and  goodness  in  that  young  face 
abandoned  to  oblivion  after  these  hours  of  stress; 
watched  the  little  tired  shadows  under  the  eyes,  the 
tremors  of  the  just-parted  lips.  And,  getting  up, 
stealthy  as  a  cat,  he  found  a  light  rug,  and  ever  more 
stealthily  laid  it  over  her.  She  stirred  at  that,  smiled 
up  at  him,  and  instantly  went  off  again.  And  he 
thought :  '  Poor  little  sweetheart,  she  was  tired ! ' 
And  a  passionate  desire  to  guard  her  from  trials  and 
troubles  came  on  him. 

At  four  o'clock  Kirsteen  slipped  in  again,  and 
whispered:  "She  made  me  promise  to  come  for  her. 
How  pretty  she  looks,  sleeping!" 

"Yes,"  Felix  answered;  "pretty  and  good!" 

Nedda  raised  her  head,  stared  up  at  her  aunt,  and 
a  delighted  smile  spread  over  her  face.     "Is  it  time  y 
again  ?    How  lovely ! "    Then,  before  either  could 
speak  or  stop  her,  she  was  gone. 


332  THE  FREELANDS 

"  She  is  more  in  love, "  Kirsteen  murmured,  "  than 
I  ever  saw  a  girl  of  her  age." 

"She  is  more  in  love,"  Felix  answered,  "than  is 
good  to  see." 

"She  is  not  truer  than  Derek  is." 
"That  may  be,  but  she  will  suffer  from  him." 
"Women  who  love  must  always  suffer;" 
Her  cheeks  were  sunken,  shadowy;  she  looked  very 
tired.  When  she  had  gone  to  get  some  sleep,  Felix 
restored  the  fire  and  put  on  a  kettle,  meaning  to 
make  himself  some  coffee.  Morning  had  broken, 
clear  and  sparkling  after  the  long  rain,  and  full  of 
scent  and  song.  What  glory  equalled  this  early 
morning  radiance,  the  dewy  wonder  of  everything ! 
What  hour  of  the  day  was  such  a  web  of  youth  and 
beauty  as  this,  when  all  the  stars  from  all  the  skies 
had  fallen  into  the  grass !  A  cold  nose  was  thrust 
into  his  hand,  and  he  saw  beside  him  Tod's  dog. 
The  animal  was  wet,  and  lightly  moved  his  white- 
tipped  tail;  while  his  dark-yellow  eyes  inquired  of 
Felix  what  he  was  going  to  give  a  dog  to  eat.  Then 
Felix  saw  his  brother  coming  in.  Tod's  face  was 
wild  and  absent  as  a  man  with  all  his  thoughts 
turned  on  something  painful  in  the  distance.  His 
ruffled  hair  had  lost  its  brightness;  his  eyes  looked  as 
if  driven  back  into  his  head;  he  was  splashed  with 
mud,  and  wet  from  head  to  foot.  He  walked  up  to 
the  hearth  without  a  word. 

"Well,  old  man?"  said  Felix  anxiously. 
Tod  looked  at  him,  but  did  not  answer. 
"Come,"  said  Felix;  "tell  us!" 


THE  FREELANDS  333 

"Locked  up,"  said  Tod  in  a  voice  unlike  his  own. 
"I  didn't  knock  them  down." 

" Heavens!     I  should  hope  not." 

"I  ought  to  have." 

Felix  put  his  hand  within  his  brother's  arm. 

"They  twisted  her  arms;  one  of  them  pushed  her 
from  behind.  I  can't  understand  it.  How  was  it 
I  didn't  ?  I  can't  understand. " 

"I  can,"  said  Felix.  "They  were  the  Law.  If 
they  had  been  mere  men  you'd  have  done  it,  fast 
enough. " 

"I  can't  understand,"  Tod  repeated.  "I've  been 
walking  ever  since. " 

Felix  stroked  his  shoulder. 

"Go   up-stairs,    old   man.     Kirsteen's   anxious." 

Tod  sat  down  and  took  his  boots  off. 

"I  can't  understand,"  he  said  once  more.  Then, 
without  another  word,  or  even  a  look  at  Felix,  he 
went  out  and  up  the  stairs. 

And  Felix  thought:  'Poor  Kirsteen!  Ah,  well— 
they're  all  about  as  queer,  one  as  the  other !  How 
to  get  Nedda  out  of  it  ? ' 

And,  with  that  question  gnawing  at  him,  he  went 
out  into  the  orchard.  The  grass  was  drenching  wet, 
so  he  descended  to  the  road.  Two  wood-pigeons 
were  crooning  to  each  other,  truest  of  all  sounds  of 
summer;  there  was  no  wind,  and  the  flies  had  begun 
humming.  In  the  air,  cleared  of  dust,  the  scent  of 
hay  was  everywhere.  What  about  those  poor  devils 
of  laborers,  now  ?  They  would  get  the  sack  for  this  ! 
and  he  was  suddenly  beset  with  a  feeling  of  disgust. 


334  THE  FREELANDS 

This  world  where  men,  and  women  too,  held  what 
they  had,  took  what  they  could;  this  world  of  seeing 
only  one  thing  at  a  time;  this  world  of  force,  and 
cunning,  of  struggle,  and  primitive  appetites;  of 
such  good  things,  too,  such  patience,  endurance, 
heroism — and  yet  at  heart  so  unutterably  savage ! 

He  was  very  tired;  but  it  was  too  wet  to  sit  down, 
so  he  walked  on.  Now  and  again  he  passed  a  laborer 
going  to  work;  but  very  few  in  all  those  miles,  and 
they  quite  silent.  'Did  they  ever  really  whistle?' 
Felix  thought.  'Were  they  ever  jolly  ploirghmen? 
Or  was  that  always  a  fiction  ?  Surely,  if  they  can't 
give  tongue  this  morning,  they  never  can ! '  He 
crossed  a  stile  and  took  a  slanting  path  through  a 
little  wood.  The  scent  of  leaves  and  sap,  the  dapple 
of  sunlight — all  the  bright  early  glow  and  beauty 
struck  him  with  such  force  that  he  could  have  cried 
out  in  the  sharpness  of  sensation.  At  that  hour  when 
man  was  still  abed  and  the  land  lived  its  own  life, 
how  full  and  sweet  and  wild  that  life  seemed,  how  in 
love  with  itself !  Truly  all  the  trouble  in  the  world 
came  from  the  manifold  disharmonies  of  the  self- 
conscious  animal  called  Man ! 

Then,  coming  out  on  the  road  again,  he  saw  that 
he  must  be  within  a  mile  or  two  of  Becket;  and 
finding  himself  suddenly  very  hungry,  determined 
to  go  there  and  get  some  breakfast. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

DULY  shaved  with  one  of  Stanley's  razors,  bathed, 
and  breakfasted,  Felix  was  on  the  point  of  getting 
into  the  car  to  return  to  Joyfields  when  he  received 
a  message  from  his  mother:  Would  he  please  go  up 
and  see  her  before  he  went? 

He  found  her  looking  anxious  and  endeavoring  to 
conceal  it. 

Having  kissed  him,  she  drew  him  to  her  sofa  and 
said:  "Now,  darling,  come  and  sit  down  here,  and 
tell  me  all  about  this  dreadful  business. "  And  taking 
up  an  odorator  she  blew  over  him  a  little  cloud  of 
scent.  "  It's  quite  a  new  perfume;  isn't  it  delicious  ?  " 

Felix,  who  dreaded  scent,  concealed  his  feelings, 
sat  down,  and  told  her.  And  while  he  told  her  he 
was  conscious  of  how  pathetically  her  fastidious- 
ness was  quivering  under  those  gruesome  details- 
fighting  with  policemen,  fighting  with  common  men, 
prison—for  a  lady;  conscious  too  of  her  still  more 
pathetic  effort  to  put  a  good  face  on  it.  When  he 
had  finished  she  remained  so  perfectly  still,  with  lips 
so  hard  compressed,  that  he  said: 

"It's  no  good  worrying,  Mother." 

Frances  Freeland  rose,  pulled  something  hard, 
and  a  cupboard  appeared.  She  opened  it,  and  took 
out  a  travelling-bag. 

"I  must  go  back  with  you  at  once,"  she  said. 

335 


336  THE  FREELANDS 

"I  don't  think  it's  in  the  least  necessary,  and  you'll 
only  knock  yourself  up. " 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  darling !     I  must. " 

Knowing  that  further  dissuasion  would  harden  her 
determination,  Felix  said:  "I'm  going  in  the  car." 

"That  doesn't  matter.  I  shall  be  ready  in  ten 
minutes.  Oh !  and  do  you  know  this  ?  It's  splendid 
for  taking  lines  out  under  the  eyes !"  She  was  hold- 
ing out  a  little  round  box  with  the  lid  off.  "Just 
wet  your  finger  with  it,  and  dab  it  gently  on. " 

Touched  by  this  evidence  of  her  deep  desire  that 
he  should  put  as  good  a  face  on  it  as  herself,  Felix 
dabbed  himself  under  the  eyes. 

"That's  right.  Now,  wait  for  me,  dear;  I  shan't 
be  a  minute.  I've  only  to  get  my  things.  They'll 
all  go  splendidly  in  this  little  bag. " 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  they  had  started.  During 
that  journey  Frances  Freeland  betrayed  no  sign 
of  tremor.  She  was  going  into  action,  and,  there- 
fore, had  no  patience  with  her  nerves. 

"Are  you  proposing  to  stay,  Mother?"  Felix 
hazarded;  "because  I  don't  think  there's  a  room  for 
you." 

"Oh!  that's  nothing,  darling.  I  sleep  beautifully 
in  a  chair.  It  suits  me  better  than  lying  down." 
Felix  cast  up  his  eyes,  and  made  no  answer. 

On  arriving,  they  found  that  the  doctor  had  been 
there,  expressed  his  satisfaction,  and  enjoined  perfect 
quiet.  Tod  was  on  the  point  of  starting  back  to 
Transham,  where  Sheila  and  the  two  laborers  would 
be  brought  up  before  the  magistrates.  Felix  and 


THE  FREELANDS  337 

Kirsteen  took  hurried  counsel.  Now  that  Mother, 
whose  nursing  was  beyond  reproach,  had  come,  it 
would  be  better  if  they  went  with  Tod.  All  three 
started  forthwith  in  the  car. 

Left  alone,  Frances  Freeland  took  her  bag — a 
noticeably  old  one,  without  any  patent  clasp  what- 
ever, so  that  she  could  open  it — went  noiselessly  up- 
stairs, tapped  on  Derek's  door,  and  went  in.  A  faint 
but  cheerful  voice  remarked:  " Halloo,  Granny !" 

Frances  Freeland  went  up  to  the  bed,  smiled  down 
on  him  ineffably,  laid  a  finger  on  his  lips,  and  said,  in 
the  stillest  voice:  "You  mustn't  talk,  darling!" 
Then  she  sat  down  in  the  window  with  her  bag  be- 
side her.  Half  a  tear  had  run  down  her  nose,  and 
she  had  no  intention  that  it  should  be  seen.  She 
therefore  opened  her  bag,  and,  having  taken  out  a 
little  bottle,  beckoned  Nedda. 

"Now,  darling/'  she  whispered,  "you  must  just 
take  one  of  these.  It's  nothing  new;  they're  what 
my  mother  used  to  give  me  at  your  age.  And  for 
one  hour  you  must  go  out  and  get  some  fresh  air, 
and  then  you  can  come  back." 

"Must  I,  Granny?" 

"  Yes ;  you  must  keep  up  your  strength.   Kiss  me. " 

Nedda  kissed  a  cheek  that  seemed  extraordinarily 
smooth  and  soft,  received  a  kiss  in  the  middle  of  her 
own,  and,  having  stayed  a  second  by  the  bed,  looking 
down  with  all  her  might,  went  out. 

Frances  Freeland,  in  the  window,  wasted  no 
thoughts,  but  began  to  run  over  in  her  mind  the 
exact  operations  necessary  to  defeat  this  illness  of 


338  THE  FREELANDS 

darling  Derek's.  Her  fingers  continually  locked  and 
interlocked  themselves  with  fresh  determinations; 
her  eyes,  fixed  on  imaginary  foods,  methods  of  wash- 
ing, and  ways  of  keeping  him  quiet,  had  an  almost 
fanatical  intensity.  Like  a  good  general  she  mar- 
shalled her  means  of  attack  and  fixed  them  in  perfect 
order.  Now  and  then  she  gazed  into  her  bag,  making 
quite  sure  that  she  had  everything,  and  nothing  that 
was  new-fangled  or  liable  to  go  wrong.  For  into 
action  she  never  brought  any  of  those  patent  novel- 
ties that  delighted  her  soul  in  times  of  peace.  For 
example,  when  she  herself  had  pneumonia  and  no 
doctor,  for  two  months,  it  was  well  known  that  she 
had  lain  on  her  back,  free  from  every  kind  of  remedy, 
employing  only  courage,  nature,  and  beef  tea,  or  some 
such  simple  sustenance. 

Having  now  made  her  mental  dispositions,  she 
got  up  without  sound  and  slipped  off  a  petticoat 
that  she  suspected  of  having  rustled  a  little  when  she 
came  in;  folding  and  popping  it  where  it  could  not 
be  suspected  any  more,  she  removed  her  shoes  and 
put  on  very  old  velvet  slippers.  She  walked  in  these 
toward  the  bed,  listening  to  find  out  whether  she 
could  hear  herself,  without  success.  Then,  standing 
where  she  could  see  when  his  eyes  opened,  she  began 
to  take  stock.  That  pillow  wasn't  very  comfortable ! 
A  little  table  was  wanted  on  both  sides,  instead  of  on 
one.  There  was  no  odorator,  and  she  did  not  see  one 
of  those  arrangements !  All  these  things  would  have 
to  be  remedied. 

Absorbed  in  this  reconnoitring,  she  failed  to  ob- 


THE  FREELANDS  339 

serve  that  darling  Derek  was  looking  at  her  through 
eyelashes  that  were  always  so  nice  and  black.  He 
said  suddenly,  in  that  faint  and  cheerful  voice: 

"All  right,  Granny;  I'm  going  to  get  up  to-mor- 
row. " 

Frances  Freeland,  whose  principle  it  was  that  peo- 
ple should  always  be  encouraged  to  believe  them- 
selves better  than  they  were,  answered.  "Yes,  dar- 
ling, of  course;  you'll  be  up  in  no  time.  It'll  be 
delightful  to  see  you  in  a  chair  to-morrow.  But  you 
mustn't  talk. " 

Derek  sighed,  closed  his  eyes,  and  went  off  into  a 
faint. 

It  was  in  moments  such  as  these  that  Frances 
Freeland  was  herself.  Her  face  flushed  a  little  and 
grew  terribly  determined.  Conscious  that  she  was 
absolutely  alone  in  the  house,  she  ran  to  her  bag, 
took  out  her  sal  volatile,  applied  it  vigorously  to  his 
nose,  and  poured  a  little  between  his  lips.  She  did 
other  things  to  him,  and  not  until  she  had  brought 
him  round,  and  the  best  of  it  was  already  made,  did 
she  even  say  to  herself:  'It's  no  use  fussing;  I  must 
make  the  best  of  it. ' 

Then,  having  discovered  that  he  felt  quite  com- 
fortable— as  he  said — she  sat  down  in  a  chair  to  fan 
him  and  tremble  vigorously.  She  would  not  have 
allowed  that  movement  of  her  limbs  if  it  had  in 
any  way  interfered  with  the  fanning.  But  since, 
on  the  contrary,  it  seemed  to  be  of  assistance,  she 
certainly  felt  it  a  relief;  for,  whatever  age  her  spirit 
might  be,  her  body  was  seventy-Xhree. 


340  THE  FREELANDS 

And  while  she  fanned  she  thought  of  Derek  as  a 
little,  black-haired,  blazing-gray-eyed  slip  of  a  sallow 
boy,  all  little  thin  legs  and  arms  moving  funnily  like  a 
foal's.  He  had  been  such  a  dear,  gentlemanlike 
little  chap.  It  was  dreadful  he  should  be  forgetting 
himself  so,  and  getting  into  such  trouble.  And  her 
thoughts  passed  back  beyond  him  to  her  own  four 
little  sons,  among  whom  she  had  been  so  careful  not 
to  have  a  favorite,  but  to  love  them  all  equally.  And 
she  thought  of  how  their  holland  suits  wore  out,  espe- 
cially in  the  elastic,  and  got  green  behind,  almost 
before  they  were  put  on;  and  of  how  she  used  to  cut 
their  hairs,  spending  at  least  three-quarters  of  an 
hour  on  each,  because  she  had  never  been  quick  at  it, 
while  they  sat  so  good — except  Stanley,  and  darling 
Tod,  who  would  move  just  as  she  had  got  into  the 
comb  particularly  nice  bits  of  his  hair,  always  so 
crisp  and  difficult!  And  of  how  she  had  cut  off 
Felix's  long  golden  curls  when  he  was  four,  and  would 
have  cried  over  it,  if  crying  hadn't  always  been  silly ! 
And  of  how  beautifully  they  had  all  had  their  measles 
together,  so  that  she  had  been  up  with  them  day  and 
night  for  about  a  fortnight.  And  of  how  it  was  a 
terrible  risk  with  Derek  and  darling  Nedda,  not  at 
all  a  wise  match,  she  was  afraid.  And  yet,  if  they 
really  were  attached,  of  course  one  must  put  the  best 
face  on  it!  And  how  lovely  it  would  be  to  see 
another  little  baby  some  day;  and  what  a  charming 
little  mother  Nedda  would  make — if  only  the  dear 
child  would  do  her  hair  just  a  little  differently  !  And 
she  perceived  that  Derek  was  asleep-— and  one  of  her 


THE  FREELANDS  341 

own  legs,  from  the  knee  down.  She  would  certainly 
have  bad  pins  and  needles  if  she  did  not  get  up;  but, 
since  she  would  not  wake  him  for  the  world,  she  must 
do  something  else  to  cure  it.  And  she  hit  upon  this 
plan.  She  had  only  to  say,  '  Nonsense,  you  haven't 
anything  of  the  sort ! '  and  it  was  sure  to  go  away. 
She  said  this  to  her  leg,  but,  being  a  realist,  she  only 
made  it  feel  like  a  pin-cushion.  She  knew,  however, 
that  she  had  only  to  persevere,  because  it  would 
never  do  to  give  in.  She  persevered,  and  her  leg  felt 
as  if  red-hot  needles  were  being  stuck  in  it.  Then, 
for  the  life  of  her,  she  could  not  help  saying  a  little 
psalm.  The  sensation  went  away  and  left  her  leg 
quite  dead.  She  would  have  no  strength  in  it  at  all 
when  she  got  up.  But  that  would  be  easily  cured, 
when  she  could  get  to  her  bag,  with  three  globules 
of  nux  vomica — and  darling  Derek  must  not  be 
waked  up  for  anything !  She  waited  thus  till  Nedda 
came  back,  and  then  said,  "Sssh  !" 

He  woke  at  once,  so  that  providentially  she  was 
able  to  get  up,  and,  having  stood  with  her  weight 
on  one  leg  for  five  minutes,  so  as  to  be  quite  sure 
she  did  not  fall,  she  crossed  back  to  the  window,  took 
her  nux  vomica,  and  sat  down  with  her  tablets  to 
note  down  the  little  affairs  she  would  require,  while 
Nedda  took  her  place  beside  the  bed,  to  fan  him. 
Having  made  her  list,  she  went  to  Nedda  and  whis- 
pered that  she  was  going  down  to  see  about  one  or 
two  little  things,  and  while  she  whispered  she  ar- 
ranged the  dear  child's  hair.  If  only  she  would  keep 
it  just  like  that,  it  would  be  so  much  more  becoming ! 
And  she  went  down-stairs. 


342  THE  FREELANDS 

Accustomed  to  the  resources  of  Stanley's  estab- 
lishment, or  at  least  to  those  of  John's  and  Felix's, 
and  of  the  hotels  she  stayed  at,  she  felt  for  a  moment 
just  a  little  nonplussed  at  discovering  at  her  disposal 
nothing  but  three  dear  little  children  playing  with  a 
dog,  and  one  bicycle.  For  a  few  seconds  she  looked 
at  the  latter  hard.  If  only  it  had  been  a  tricycle ! 
Then,  feeling  certain  that  she  could  not  make  it  into 
one,  she  knew  that  she  must  make  the  best  of  it, 
especially  as,  in  any  case,  she  could  not  have  used  it, 
for  it  would  never  do  to  leave  darling  Nedda  alone 
in  the  house.  She  decided  therefore  to  look  in  every 
room  to  see  if  she  could  find  the  things  she  wanted. 
The  dog,  who  had  been  attracted  by  her,  left  the 
children  and  came  too,  and  the  children,  attracted 
by  the  dog,  followed;  so  they  all  five  went  into  a  room 
on  the  ground  floor.  It  was  partitioned  into  two 
by  a  screen;  in  one  portion  was  a  rough  camp  bed- 
stead, and  in  the  other  two  dear  little  child's  beds, 
that  must  once  have  been  Derek's  and  Sheila's,  and 
one  still  smaller,  made  out  of  a  large  packing-case. 
The  eldest  of  the  little  children  said: 

"That's  where  Billy  sleeps,  Susie  sleeps  here,  and 
I  sleeps  there;  and  our  father  sleeped  in  here  before 
he  went  to  prison. "  Frances  Freeland  experienced 
a  shock.  To  prison  !  The  idea  of  letting  these  little 
things  know  such  a  thing  as  that!  The  best  face 
had  so  clearly  not  been  put  on  it  that  she  decided  to 
put  it  herself. 

"Oh,  not  to  prison,  dear!  Only  into  a  house  in 
the  town  for  a  little  while. " 

It  seemed  to  her  quite  dreadful  that  they  should 


THE  FREELANDS  343 

know  the  truth — it  was  simply  necessary  to  put  it 
out  of  their  heads.  That  dear  little  girl  looked  so 
old  already,  such  a  little  mother !  And,  as  they  stood 
about  her,  she  gazed  piercingly  at  their  heads.  They 
were  quite  clean. 

The  second  dear  little  thing  said: 

"We  like  bein'  here;  we  hope  Father  won't  be 
comin'  back  from  prison  for  a  long  time,  so  as  we  can 
go  on  stayin'  here.  Mr.  Freeland  gives  us  apples. " 

The  failure  of  her  attempt  to  put  a  nicer  idea  into 
their  heads  disconcerted  Frances  Freeland  for  a 
moment  only.  She  said: 

"Who  told  you  he  was  in  prison ?" 

Biddy  answered  slowly:  "Nobody  didn't  tell  us; 
we  picked  it  up." 

"  Oh,  but  you  should  never  pick  things  up !  That's 
not  at  all  nice.  You  don't  know  what  harm  they 
may  do  you. " 

Billy  replied:  "  We  picked  up  a  dead  cat  yesterday. 
It  didn't  scratch  a  bit,  it  didn't. " 

And  Biddy  added:  "Please,  what  is  prison  like?" 

Pity  seized  on  Frances  Freeland  for  these  little 
derelicts,  whose  heads  and  pinafores  and  faces  were 
so  clean.  She  pursed  her  lips  very  tight  and  said: 

"Hold  out  your  hands,  all  of  you." 

Three  small  hands  were  held  out,  and  three  small 
pairs  of  gray-blue  eyes  looked  up  at  her.  From  the 
recesses  of  her  pocket  she  drew  forth  her  purse,  took 
from  it  three  shillings,  and  placed  one  in  the  very 
centre  of  each  palm.  The  three  small  hands  closed; 
two  small  grave  bodies  dipped  in  little  courtesies;  the 


344  THE  FREELANDS 

third  remained  stock-still,  but  a  grin  spread  gradu- 
ally on  its  face  from  ear  to  ear. 

"What  do  you  say?"  said  Frances  Freeland. 

"Thank  you." 

"Thank  you— what?" 

"Thank  you,  ma'am." 

"That's  right.  Now  run  away  and  play  a  nice 
game  in  the  orchard." 

The  three  turned  immediately  and  went.  A  sound 
of  whispering  rose  busily  outside.  Frances  Freeland, 
glancing  through  the  window,  saw  them  unlatching 
the  wicket  gate.  Sudden  alarm  seized  her.  She  put 
out  her  head  and  called.  Biddy  came  back. 

"You  mustn't  spend  them  all  at  once." 

Biddy  shook  her  head. 

"No.  Once  we  had  a  shillin',  and  we  were  sick. 
We're  goin'  to  spend  three  pennies  out  of  one  shillin' 
every  day,  till  they're  gone. " 

"And  aren't  you  going  to  put  any  by  for  a  rainy 
day?" 

"No." 

Frances  Freeland  did  not  know  what  to  answer. 
Dear  little  things ! 

The  dear  little  things  vanished. 

In  Tod's  and  Kirsteen's  room  she  found  a  little 
table  and  a  pillow,  and  something  that  might  do,  and 
having  devised  a  contrivance  by  which  this  went 
into  that  and  that  into  this  and  nothing  whatever 
showed,  she  conveyed  the  whole  very  quietly  up  near 
dear  Derek's  room,  and  told  darling  Nedda  to  go 
down-stairs  and  look  for  something  that  she  knew 


THE  FREELANDS  345 

she  would  not  find,  for  she  could  not  think  at  the 
moment  of  any  better  excuse.  When  the  child  had 
gone,  she  popped  this  here,  and  popped  that  there. 
And  there  she  was  !  And  she  felt  better.  It  was  no 
use  whatever  to  make  a  fuss  about  that  aspect  of 
nursing  which  was  not  quite  nice.  One  just  put  the 
best  face  upon  it,  quietly  did  what  was  necessary, 
and  pretended  that  it  was  not  there.  Kirsteen  had 
not  seen  to  things  quite  as  she  should  have.  But 
then  dear  Kirsteen  was  so  clever. 

Her  attitude,  indeed,  to  that  blue  bird,  who  had 
alighted  now  twenty-one  years  ago  in  the  Freeland 
nest,  had  always,  after  the  first  few  shocks,  been  duly 
stoical.  For,  however  her  fastidiousness  might  jib 
at  neglect  of  the  forms  of  things,  she  was  the  last 
woman  not  to  appreciate  really  sterling  qualities. 
Though  it  was  a  pity  dear  Kirsteen  did  expose  her 
neck  and  arms  so  that  they  had  got  quite  brown,  a 
pity  that  she  never  went  to  church  and  had  brought 
up  the  dear  children  not  to  go,  and  to  have  ideas 
that  were  not  quite  right  about  '  the  Land, '  still  she 
was  emphatically  a  lady,  and  devoted  to  dear  Tod, 
and  very  good.  And  her  features  were  so  regular, 
and  she  had  such  a  good  color,  and  was  so  slim  and 
straight  in  the  back,  that  she  was  always  a  pleasure 
to  look  at.  And  if  she  was  not  quite  so  practical 
as  she  might  have  been,  that  was  not  everything; 
and  she  would  never  get  stout,  as  there  was  every 
danger  of  Clara  doing.  So  that  from  the  first  she 
had  always  put  a  good  face  on  her.  Derek's  voice 
interrupted  her  thoughts: 


346  THE  FREELANDS 

"I'm  awfully  thirsty,  Granny." 

"Yes,  darling.  Don't  move  your  head;  and  just 
let  me  pop  in  some  of  this  delicious  lemonade  with  a 
spoon. " 

Nedda,  returning,  found  her  supporting  his  head 
with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  she  kept  popping 
in  the  spoon,  her  soul  smiling  at  him  lovingly  through 
her  lips  and  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

FELIX  went  back  to  London  the  afternoon  of 
Frances  Freeland's  installation,  taking  Sheila  with 
him.  She  had  been '  bound  over  to  keep  the  peace ' — • 
a  task  which  she  would  obviously  be  the  better  able 
to  accomplish  at  a  distance.  And,  though  to  take 
charge  of  her  would  be  rather  like  holding  a  burning 
match  till  there  was  no  match  left,  he  felt  bound  to 
volunteer. 

He  left  Nedda  with  many  misgivings;  but  had  not 
the  heart  to  wrench  her  away. 

The  recovery  of  a  young  man  who  means  to  get 
up  to-morrow  is  not  so  rapid  when  his  head,  rather 
than  his  body,  is  the  seat  of  trouble.  Derek's  tem- 
perament was  against  him.  He  got  up  several  times 
in  spirit,  to  find  that  his  body  had  remained  in  bed. 
And  this  did  not  accelerate  his  progress.  It  had  been 
impossible  to  dispossess  Frances  Freeland  from  com- 
mand of  the  sick-room ;  and,  since  she  was  admittedly 
from  experience  and  power  of  paying  no  attention  to 
her  own  wants,  the  fittest  person  for  the  position, 
there  she  remained,  taking  turn  and  turn  about  with 
Nedda,  and  growing  a  little  whiter,  a  little  thinner, 
more  resolute  in  face,  and  more  loving  in  her  eyes, 
from  day  to  day.  That  tragedy  of  the  old — the 
being  laid  aside  from  life  before  the  spirit  is  ready 

347 


348  THE  FREELANDS 

to  resign,  the  feeling  that  no  one  wants  you,  that  all 
those  you  have  borne  and  brought  up  have  long 
passed  out  on  to  roads  where  you  cannot  follow,  that 
even  the  thought-life  of  the  world  streams  by  so  fast 
that  you  lie  up  in  a  backwater,  feebly,  blindly  groping 
for  the  full  of  the  water,  and  always  pushed  gently, 
hopelessly  back;  that  sense  that  you  are  still  young 
and  warm,  and  yet  so  furbelowed  with  old  thoughts 
and  fashions  that  none  can  see  how  young  and  warm 
you  are,  none  see  how  you  long  to  rub  hearts  with 
the  active,  how  you  yearn  for  something  real  to  do 
that  can  help  life  on,  and  how  no  one  will  give  it  you ! 
All  this — this  tragedy — was  for  the  time  defeated. 
She  was,  in  triumph,  doing  something  real  for  those 
she  loved  and  longed  to  do  things  for.  She  had 
Sheila's  room. 

For  a  week  at  least  Derek  asked  no  questions, 
made  no  allusion  to  the  mutiny,  not  even  to  the 
cause  of  his  own  disablement.  It  had  been  impos- 
sible to  tell  whether  the  concussion  had  driven  cohe- 
rent recollection  from  his  mind,  or  whether  he  was 
refraining  from  an  instinct  of  self-preservation,  bar- 
ring such  thoughts  as  too  exciting.  Nedda  dreaded 
every  day  lest  he  should  begin.  She  knew  that  the 
questions  would  fall  on  her,  since  no  answer  could 
possibly  be  expected  from  Granny  except:  "It's  all 
right,  darling,  everything's  going  on  perfectly- 
only  you  mustn't  talk!" 

It  began  the  last  day  of  June,  the  very  first  day 
that  he  got  up. 

"They  didn't  save  the  hay,  did  they?" 


THE  FREELANDS  349 

Was  he  fit  to  hear  the  truth?  Would  he  forgive 
her  if  she  did  not  tell  it?  If  she  lied  about  this, 
could  she  go  on  lying  to  his  other  questions  ?  When 
he  discovered,  later,  would  not  the  effect  undo  the 
good  of  lies  now?  She  decided  to  lie;  but,  when  she 
opened  her  lips,  simply  could  not,  with  his  eyes  on 
her;  and  said  faintly:  "Yes,  they  did." 

His  face  contracted.  She  slipped  down  at  once 
and  knelt  beside  his  chair.  He  said  between  his 
teeth: 

"  Go  on ;  tell  me.    Did  it  aU  collapse  ?  " 

She  could  only  stroke  his  hands  and  bow  her  head. 

"I  see.     What's  happened  to  them?" 

Without  looking  up,  she  murmured: 

"Some  have  been  dismissed;  the  others  are  work- 
ing again  all  right." 

"AU  right!" 

She  looked  up  then  so  pitifully  that  he  did  not  ask 
her  anything  more.  But  the  news  put  him  back  a 
week.  And  she  was  in  despair.  The  day  he  got  up 
again  he  began  afresh: 

"When  are  the  assizes?" 

"The  7th  of  August." 

"Has  anybody  been  to  see  Bob  Tryst?" 

"Yes;  Aunt  Kirsteen  has  been  twice." 

Having  been  thus  answered,  he  was  quiet  for  a 
long  time.  She  had  slipped  again  out  of  her  chair 
to  kneel  beside  him;  it  seemed  the  only  place  from 
which  she  could  find  courage  for  her  answers.  He 
put  his  hand,  that  had  lost  its  brown,  on  her  hair. 
At  that  she  plucked  up  spirit  to  ask: 


350  THE  FREELANDS 

"Would  you  like  me  to  go  and  see  him?" 

He  nodded. 

"Then,  I  will— to-morrow. " 

"Don't  ever  tell  me  what  isn't  true,  Nedda! 
People  do;  that's  why  I  didn't  ask  before." 

She  answered  fervently: 

"I  won't!    Oh,  I  won't!" 

She  dreaded  this  visit  to  the  prison.  Even  to 
think  of  those  places  gave  her  nightmare.  Sheila's 
description  of  her  night  in  a  cell  had  made  her  shiver 
with  horror.  But  there  was  a  spirit  in  Nedda  that 
went  through  with  things;  and  she  started  early  the 
next  day,  refusing  Kirsteen's  proffered  company. 

The  look  of  that  battlemented  building,  whose 
walls  were  pierced  with  emblems  of  the  Christian 
faith,  turned  her  heartsick,  and  she  stood  for  several 
minutes  outside  the  dark-green  door  before  she  could 
summon  courage  to  ring  the  bell. 

A  stout  man  in  blue,  with  a  fringe  of  gray  hair 
under  his  peaked  cap,  and  some  keys  dangling  from 
a  belt,  opened,  and  said: 

"Yes,  miss?" 

Being  called  'miss'  gave  her  a  little  spirit,  and  she 
produced  the  card  she  had  been  warming  in  her  hand. 

"I  have  come  to  see  a  man  called  Robert  Tryst, 
waiting  for  trial  at  the  assizes. " 

The  stout  man  looked  at  the  card  back  and  front, 
as  is  the  way  of  those  in  doubt,  closed  the  door  be- 
hind her,  and  said: 

"Just  a  minute,  miss. " 

The  shutting  of  the  door  behind  her  sent  a  little 


THE  FREELANDS  351 

shiver  down  Nedda's  spine;  but  the  temperature  of 
her  soul  was  rising,  and  she  looked  round.  Beyond 
the  heavy  arch,  beneath  which  she  stood,  was  a  court- 
yard where  she  could  see  two  men,  also  in  blue,  with 
peaked  caps.  Then,  to  her  left,  she  became  con- 
scious of  a  shaven-headed  noiseless  being  in  drab- 
gray  clothes,  on  hands  and  knees,  scrubbing  the  end 
of  a  corridor.  Her  tremor  at  the  stealthy  ugliness 
of  this  crouching  figure  yielded  at  once  to  a  spasm 
of  pity.  The  man  gave  her  a  look,  furtive,  yet  so 
charged  with  intense  penetrating  curiosity  that  it 
seemed  to  let  her  suddenly  into  innumerable  secrets. 
She  felt  as  if  the  whole  life  of  people  shut  away  in 
silence  and  solitude  were  disclosed  to  her  in  the  swift, 
unutterably  alive  look  of  this  noiseless  kneeling 
creature,  riving  out  of  her  something  to  feed  his  soul 
and  body  on.  That  look  seemed  to  lick  its  lips.  It 
made  her  angry,  made  her  miserable,  with  a  feeling 
of  pity  she  could  hardly  bear.  Tears,  too  startled 
to  flow,  darkened  her  eyes.  Poor  man !  How  he 
must  hate  her,  who  was  free,  and  all  fresh  from  the 
open  world  and  the  sun,  and  people  to  love  and  talk 
to !  The  'poor  man'  scrubbed  on  steadily,  his  ears 
standing  out  from  his  shaven  head;  then,  dragging 
his  knee-mat  skew- ways,  he  took  the  chance  to  look 
at  her  again.  Perhaps  because  his  dress  and  cap  and 
stubble  of  hair  and  even  the  color  of  his  face  were 
so  drab-gray,  those  little  dark  eyes  seemed  to  her 
the  most  terribly  living  things  she  had  ever  seen. 
She  felt  that  they  had  taken  her  in  from  top  to  toe, 
clothed  and  unclothed,  taken  in  the  resentment  she 


352  THE  FREELANDS 

had  felt  and  the  pity  she  was  feeling;  they  seemed 
at  once  to  appeal,  to  attack,  and  to  possess  her 
ravenously,  as  though  all  the  starved  instincts  in  a 
whole  prisoned  world  had  rushed  up  and  for  a  second 
stood  outside  their  bars.  Then  came  the  clank  of 
keys,  the  eyes  left  her  as  swiftly  as  they  had  seized 
her,  and  he  became  again  just  that  stealthy,  noise- 
less creature  scrubbing  a  stone  floor.  And,  shiver- 
ing, Nedda  thought: 

'I  can't  bear  myself  here — me  with  everything  in 
the  world  I  want — and  these  with  nothing  !J 

But  the  stout  janitor  was  standing  by  her  again, 
together  with  another  man  in  blue,  who  said: 

"Now,  miss;  this  way,  please !" 

And  down  that  corridor  they  went.  Though  she 
did  not  turn,  she  knew  well  that  those  eyes  were 
following,  still  riving  something  from  her;  and  she 
heaved  a  sigh  of  real  relief  when  she  was  round  a  cor- 
ner. Through  barred  windows  that  had  no  glass 
she  could  see  another  court,,  where  men  in  the  same 
drab-gray  clothes  printed  with  arrows  were  walking 
one  behind  the  other,  making  a  sort  of  moving  human 
hieroglyphic  in  the  centre  of  the  concrete  floor.  Two 
warders  with  swords  stood  just  outside  its  edge. 
Some  of  those  walking  had  their  heads  up,  their  chests 
expanded,  some  slouched  along  with  heads  almost 
resting  on  their  chests;  but  most  had  their  eyes  fixed 
on  the  back  of  the  neck  of  the  man  in  front;  and 
there  was  no  sound  save  the  tramp  of  feet. 

Nedda  put  her  hand  to  her  throat.  The  warder 
beside  her  said  in  a  chatty  voice: 


THE  FREELANDS  353 

"That's  where  the  'ards  takes  their  exercise,  miss. 
You  want  to  see  a  man  called  Tryst,  waitin'  trial,  I 
think.  We've  had  a  woman  here  to  see  him,  and  a 
lady  in  blue,  once  or  twice. " 

" My  aunt." 

"Ah!  just  so.  Laborer,  I  think — case  of  arson. 
Funny  thing;  never  yet  found  a  farm-laborer  that 
took  to  prison  well. " 

Nedda  shivered.  The  words  sounded  ominous. 
Then  a  little  flame  lit  itself  within  her. 

"Does  anybody  ever  Hake  to'  prison?" 

The  warder  uttered  a  sound  between  a  grunt  and 
chuckle. 

"There's  some  has  a  better  time  here  than  they 
have  out,  any  day.  No  doubt  about  it — they're 
well  fed  here. " 

Her  aunt's  words  came  suddenly  into  Nedda's 
mind:  'Liberty's  a  glorious  feast!'  But  she  did 
not  speak  them. 

"Yes,"  the  warder  proceeded,  "some  o'  them  we 
get  look  as  if  they  didn't  have  a  square  meal  outside 
from  one  year's  end  to  the  other.  If  you'll  just  wait 
a  minute,  miss,  I'll  fetch  the  man  down  to  you. " 

In  a  bare  room  with  distempered  walls,  and  bars 
to  a  window  out  of  which  she  could  see  nothing  but 
a  high  brick  wall,  Nedda  waited.  So  rapid  is  the 
adjustment  of  the  human  mind,  so  quick  the  blunt- 
ing of  human  sensation,  that  she  had  already  not 
quite  the  passion  of  pitiful  feeling  which  had  stormed 
her  standing  under  that  archway.  A  kind  of  numb- 
ness gripped  her  nerves.  There  were  wooden  forms 


354  THE  FREELANDS 

in  this  room,  and  a  blackboard,  on  which  two  rows 
of  figures  had  been  set  oiu:  beneath   the  other,  but 
.-idded  up. 

The  silence  at  first  was  almost  deathly.    Then  it 

was  broken  by  a  sound  as  of  a  heavy  door  banned,  and 

i  IK  shuffling  tramp  of  marching  men— louder,  louder, 
softer — a  word  of  command — still  softer,  and  it  died 
away.  Dead  silence  again!  Nedda  pressed  her 
hands  to  her  breast.  Twice  she  added  up  those 
figures  on  the  blackboard;  each  time  the  number  was 

Hi.     :;IIIK.      Ah,    there    was   a    fly      two    (lies!      How 

nice  they  looked,  moving,  moving,  chasing  each 
other  in  the  air.  Did  flies  get  into  the  cells?  IVr 

h;ip  .  i  ml  .  \cn  a  fly  ciine  there      nothing  more  living 

Hum   walls  an-i       <      I  !      \olhin;',  li\in-  e\<  epl    what 

was  inside  oneself  1  How  dreadful  1  Not  even  a 
clock  ticking,  not  even  a  bird's  songl  Silent,  un- 
living, worse  than  in  this  room  1  Something  pressed 

-IMIM   I    IK,    i   ••       She  started    violently   and   looked 
i.     A   little  cat  I    Oh,  what  a  blessed  thing ! 
A  little  sandy,  ugly  catl    It  must  have  crept  in 
1 1 1 1  "ugh  the  door.    She  was  not  locked  in,  then,  any- 
way !    Thus  far  had  nerves  carried  her  already  1 
S.  rallliii;'.  lh<    litilc  «  ni's  lurry  pate,  she  pulled  her- 
self !« wilier.    She  would  not  tremble  and  be  ner- 
«M         li  al  to  Derek  and  to  her  purpose, 

whidi  was  to  bring  comfort  to  poor  Tryst.  Then 
the  door  was  pushed  open,  and  the  warder  said: 

"A  <|uai!n  ol  ;,,,  |, ..in,  in      ,       I'll  be  jusl  outside/' 
'  h<      .1   .   .1  hi-  man  \\ilh  unshaven  cheeks  come  in, 
and  slretc  hed  out  her  hand. 


•nil-:  rur.Ki.ANDs  353 

'•  1  atn  Mi  IVivk's  ion  ,in,  !>>»"!'.  I*'  lv  married  to 
him.  ih  heen  ill,  l>u(  he's  lyttin  -,  well  a;-.ain  now. 
\\V  Knew  youM  like  to  IUMI  "  Aiul  she  thought: 

4  Oh  1    What  a  tragic  face  1    I  can't  bear  to  look  at 


IK-  look  hei  hand,  saiil,  "  1'lunk  you,  miss,"  and 
stood  as  still  as  over. 

"  Please  .  ome  ami  sit  down,  ami  \\i-  »  an  (.ilk 

I'rysl  nu>vnl  to  a  lonn  ami  took  his  srat  tin-iron. 
with  hf.  ha  ml-.  l>i-twi\-u  his  kmvs,  as  il  playin;'.  u  ilh 
an  iuiaj',iuar\  i  ap.  IK*  was  Ju-..ril  m  .in  ot'ihu»iry 
:,nit  ol  kiltoin''.  lu-.-.l  ilothos,  an.l  hi-,  still,  ilu-.t 
rolornl  han  was  not  »  ut  paithiilaiU  :.lu»it  I'hr 
t  lux%k  ol  in  .  :.t  jna  i  v-  i  n  t  t  a<  i-  ha*  1  I  a  Urn  in  ,  t  lu-  r\  >'  • 
ha»l  sunk  hark,  ami  tin*  prominriuv  thus  r.ivi'n  to  his 
I'lh'ck  ami  |aul»om-.  ami  lhi»k  month  '\»\r  In.  Lui' 
a  .a\a",r  look  only  hr.  »lo"  hkr,  tniiM\  Nrainin-'. 
ryrs  madr  \\-iKla  Uvl  so  sorry  that  she  siinph  v  onkl 
not  l\-rl  ahaiil. 

"  I'hr  ihililu-n  au-  sm  h  clears,  Mi  IVysl  Hilly 
j'.ri'ins  to  j'.tow  rvi'n  «la\  rh»-\  Ve  no  tionhk-  at  all, 
a  no!  »|iiitr  happv.  UiiKU  '••  wonderful  \\ith  thrm 

"  Slu-'-,  a  ".ooj  maul  "  1'lu-  iliu  k  lips  shaped  i  he 
\\.M.!.  .1,  ihoii'-Ji  tlu-\  h.ul  ahno-.t  lo-.t  po\\i-i  ol 


"o   ti-\      M    \  on   -,v-r   tu-   new^ipaptMS 
lla\r  yon  "of   rvei  \  thitu'   \>m   \\ani 

li%or   a    tninnti-    lu-   ilul    not     seem    to   U-   r.om 
answer;    thru,    tm«\  im-.    hi-.   hi-a»l    Itoin    -.uK-    to   -.uL-. 
he  said: 

"  \othin'  I  want,  hut  in  i  L»el  out  oi  htM'e 


THE  FREELANDS 

Nedda  murmured  helplessly: 

"It's  only  a  month  now  to  the  assizes.  Does  Mr. 
Pogram  come  to  see  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  he  comes.     He  can't  do  nothm' ! " 

"Oh,  don't  despair!  Even  if  they  don't  acquit 
you,  it'll  soon  be  over.  Don't  despair!"  And  she 
stole  her  hand  out  and  timidly  touched  his  arm.  She 
felt  her  heart  turning  over  and  over,  he  looked  so  sad. 

He  said  in  that  stumbling,  thick  voice : 

"Thank  you  kindly.  I  must  get  out.  I  won't 
stand  long  of  it — not  much  longer.  I'm  not  used 
to  it — always  been  accustomed  to  the  air,  an'  bein' 
about,  that's  where  'tis.  But  don't  you  tell  him, 
miss.  You  say  I'm  goin'  along  all  right.  Don't 
you  tell  him  what  I  said.  'Tis  no  use  him  frettin' 
over  me.  'Twon'  do  me  no  good. " 

And  Nedda  murmured : 

"No,  no;  I  won't  teU  him." 

Then  suddenly  came  the  words  she  had  dreaded: 

"D'you  think  they'll  let  me  go,  miss?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  think  so — I  hope  so !"  But  she  could 
not  meet  his  eyes,  and  hearing  him  grit  his  boot  on 
the  floor  knew  he  had  not  believed  her. 

He  said  slowly: 

"I  never  meant  to  do  it  when  I  went  out  that 
mornin'.  It  came  on  me  sudden,  lookin'  at  the 
straw. " 

Nedda  gave  a  little  gasp.  Could  that  man  out- 
side hear  ? 

Tryst  went  on:  "If  they  don't  let  me  go,  I  won* 
stand  it.  'Tis  too  much  for  a  man.  I  can't  sleep, 


THE  FREELANDS  357 

I  can't  eat,  nor  no  thin '.  I  won'  stand  it.  It  don' 
take  long  to  die,  if  you  put  your  mind  to  it. " 

Feeling  quite  sick  with  pity,  Nedda  got  up  and 
stood  beside  him;  and,  moved  by  an  uncontrollable 
impulse,  she  lifted  one  of  his  great  hands  and  clasped 
it  in  both  her  own.  "  Oh,  try  and  be  brave  and  look 
forward!  You're  going  to  be  ever  so  happy  some 
day." 

He  gave  her  a  strange  long  stare. 

"Yes,  I'll  be  happy  some  day.  Don'  you  never 
fret  about  me. " 

And  Nedda  saw  that  the  warder  was  standing  in 
the  doorway. 

"Sorry,  miss,  time's  up." 

Without  a  word  Tryst  rose  and  went  out. 

Nedda  was  alone  again  with  the  little  sandy  cat. 
Standing  under  the  high-barred  window  she  wiped 
her  cheeks,  that  were  all  wet.  Why,  why  must  peo- 
ple suffer  so  ?  Suffer  so  slowly,  so  horribly  ?  What 
were  men  made  of  that  they  could  go  on  day  after 
day,  year  after  year,  watching  others  suffer? 

When  the  warder  came  back  to  take  her  out,  she 
did  not  trust  herself  to  speak,  or  even  to  look  at  him. 
She  walked  with  hands  tight  clenched,  and  eyes  fixed 
on  the  ground.  Outside  the  prison  door  she  drew  a 
long,  long  breath.  And  suddenly  her  eyes  caught 
the  inscription  on  the  corner  of  a  lane  leading  down 
alongside  the  prison  wall — "Love's  Walk"  ! 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

PEREMPTORILY  ordered  by  the  doctor  to  the  sea, 
but  with  instructions  to  avoid  for  the  present  all 
excitement,  sunlight,  and  color,  Derek  and  his  grand- 
mother repaired  to  a  spot  well  known  to  be  gray, 
and  Nedda  went  home  to  Hampstead.  This  was  the 
last  week  in  July.  A  fortnight  spent  in  the  perfect 
vacuity  of  an  English  watering-place  restored  the 
boy  wonderfully.  No  one  could  be  better  trusted 
than  Frances  Freeland  to  preserve  him  from  looking 
on  the  dark  side  of  anything,  more  specially  when 
that  thing  was  already  not  quite  nice.  Their  con- 
versation was  therefore  free  from  allusion  to  the 
laborers,  the  strike,  or  Bob  Tryst.  And  Derek 
thought  the  more.  The  approaching  trial  was  hardly 
ever  out  of  his  mind.  Bathing,  he  would  think  of  it; 
sitting  on  the  gray  jetty  looking  over  the  gray  sea, 
he  would  think  of  it.  Up  the  gray  cobbled  streets 
and  away  on  the  headlands,  he  would  think  of  it. 
And,  so  as  not  to  have  to  think  of  it,  he  would  try 
to  walk  himself  to  a  standstill.  Unfortunately  the 
head  will  continue  working  when  the  legs  are  at  rest. 
And  when  he  sat  opposite  to  her  at  meal-times, 
Frances  Freeland  would  gaze  piercingly  at  his  fore- 
head and  muse:  'The  dear  boy  looks  much  better, 
but  he's  getting  a  little  line  between  his  brows — 

358 


THE  FREELANDS  359 

It  is  such  a  pity ! '  It  worried  her,  too,  that  the  face 
he  was  putting  on  their  little  holiday  together  was 
not  quite  as  full  as  she  could  have  wished — though 
the  last  thing  in  the  world  she  could  tolerate  were 
really  fat  cheeks,  those  signs  of  all  that  her  stoicism 
abhorred,  those  truly  unforgivable  marks  of  the  loss 
of  'form/  He  struck  her  as  dreadfully  silent,  too, 
and  she  would  rack  her  brains  for  subjects  that 
would  interest  him,  often  saying  to  herself:  'If  only 
I  were  clever!'  It  was  natural  he  should  think  of 
dear  Nedda,  but  surely  it  was  not  that  which  gave 
him  the  little  line.  He  must  be  brooding  about 
those  other  things.  He  ought  not  to  be  melancholy 
like  this  and  let  anything  prevent  the  sea  from  doing 
him  good.  The  habit — hard-learned  by  the  old, 
and  especially  the  old  of  her  particular  sex — of  not 
wishing  for  the  moon,  or  at  all  events  of  not  letting 
others  know  that  you  are  wishing  for  it,  had  long 
enabled  Frances  Freeland  to  talk  cheerfully  on  the 
most  indifferent  subjects  whether  or  no  her  heart  were 
aching.  One's  heart  often  did  ache,  of  course,  but 
it  simply  didn't  do  to  let  it  interfere,  making  things 
uncomfortable  for  others.  And  once  she  said  to  him : 
"You  know,  darling,  I  think  it  would  be  so  nice  for 
you  to  take  a  little  interest  in  politics.  They're  very 
absorbing  when  you  once  get  into  them.  I  find  my 
paper  most  enthralling.  And  it  really  has  very  good 
principles. " 

"If  politics  did  anything  for  those  who  most  need 
things  done,  Granny — but  I  can't  see  that  they 
do." 


360  THE  FREELANDS 

She  thought  a  little,  then,  making  firm  her  lips, 
said: 

"I  don't  think  that's  quite  just,  darling,  there  are  a 
great  many  politicians  who  are  very  much  looked 
up  to — all  the  bishops,  for  instance,  and  others  whom 
nobody  could  suspect  of  self-seeking. " 

"I  didn't  mean  that  politicians  were  self-seeking, 
Granny;  I  meant  that  they're  comfortable  people, 
and  the  things  that  interest  them  are  those  that 
interest  comfortable  people.  What  have  they  done 
for  the  laborers,  for  instance?" 

"Oh,  but,  darling !  they're  going  to  do  a  great  deal. 
In  my  paper  they're  continually  saying  that. " 

"Do  you  believe  it?" 

"I'm  sure  they  wouldn't  say  so  if  they  weren't. 
There's  quite  a  new  plan,  and  it  sounds  most  sensible. 
And  so  I  don't  think,  darling,  that  if  I  were  you  I 
should  make  myself  unhappy  about  all  that  kind  of 
thing.  They  must  know  best.  They're  all  so  much 
older  than  you.  And  you're  getting  quite  a  little 
line  between  your  eyes. " 

Derek  smiled. 

"All  right,  Granny;  I  shall  have  a  big  one  soon." 

Frances  Freeland  smiled,  too,  but  shook  her  head. 

"Yes;  and  that's  why  I  really  think  you  ought  to 
take  interest  in  politics. " 

"I'd  rather  take  interest  in  you,  Granny.  You're 
very  jolly  to  look  at. " 

Frances  Freeland  raised  her  brows. 

"I?    My  dear,  I'm  a  perfect  fright  nowadays. " 

Thus  pushing  away  what  her  stoicism  and  per- 


THE  FREELANDS  361 

petual  aspiration  to  an  impossibly  good  face  would 
not  suffer  her  to  admit,  she  added: 

"Where  would  you  like  to  drive  this  afternoon?" 

For  they  took  drives  in  a  small  victoria,  Frances 
Freeland  holding  her  sunshade  to  protect  him  from 
the  sun  whenever  it  made  the  mistake  of  being  out. 

On  August  the  fourth  he  insisted  that  he  was  well 
and  must  go  back  home.  And,  though  to  bring  her 
attendance  on  him  to  an  end  was  a  grief,  she  humbly 
admitted  that  he  must  be  wanting  younger  company, 
and,  after  one  wistful  attempt,  made  no  further  bones. 
The  following  day  they  travelled. 

On  getting  home  he  found  that  the  police  had  been 
to  see  little  Biddy  Tryst,  who  was  to  be  called  as  a 
witness.  Tod  would  take  her  over  on  the  morning 
of  the  trial.  Derek  did  not  wait  for  this,  but  on  the 
day  before  the  assizes  repacked  his  bag  and  went  off 
to  the  Royal  Charles  Hostel  at  Worcester.  He  slept 
not  at  all  that  night,  and  next  morning  was  early  at 
the  court,  for  Tryst's  case  would  be  the  first. 
Anxiously  he  sat  watching  all  the  queer  and  formal 
happenings  that  mark  the  initiation  of  the  higher 
justice — the  assemblage  of  the  gentlemen  in  wigs; 
the  sifting,  shifting,  settling  of  clerks,  and  ushers,  so- 
licitors, and  the  public;  the  busy  indifference,  the 
cheerful  professionalism  of  it  all.  He  saw  little  Mr. 
Pogram  come  in,  more  square  and  rubbery  than  ever, 
and  engage  in  conclave  with  one  of  the  bewigged.^^ 
The  smiles,  shrugs,  even  the  sharp  expressions  on  that* 
barrister's  face;  the  way  he  stood,  twisting  round, 
one  hand  wrapped  in  his  gown,  one  foot  on  the  bench 


362  THE  FREELANDS 

behind;  it  was  all  as  if  he  had  done  it  hundreds  of 
times  before  and  cared  not  the  snap  of  one  of  his  thin, 
yellow  fingers.  Then  there  was  a  sudden  hush;  the 
judge  came  in,  bowed,  and  took  his  seat.  And 
that,  too,  seemed  so  professional.  Haunted  by  the 
thought  of  him  to  whom  this  was  almost  life  and 
death,  the  boy  was  incapable  of  seeing  how  natural 
it  was  that  they  should  not  all  feel  as  he  did. 

The  case  was  called  and  Tryst  brought  in.  Derek 
had  once  more  to  undergo  the  torture  of  those  tragic 
eyes  fixed  on  him.  Round  that  heavy  figure,  that 
mournful,  half-brutal,  and  half-yearning  face,  the 
pleadings,  the  questions,  the  answers  buzzed,  bringing 
out  facts  with  damning  clearness,  yet  leaving  the  real 
story  of  that  early  morning  as  hidden  as  if  the  court 
and  all  were  but  gibbering  figures  of  air.  The  real 
story  of  Tryst,  heavy  and  distraught,  rising  and 
turning  out  from  habit  into  the  early  haze  on  the 
fields,  where  his  daily  work  had  lain,  of  Tryst  brood- 
ing, with  the  slow,  the  wrathful  incoherence  that 
centuries  of  silence  in  those  lonely  fields  had  passed 
into  the  blood  of  his  forebears  and  himself.  Brood- 
ing, in  the  dangerous  disproportion  that  enforced 
continence  brings  to  certain  natures,  loading  the 
brain  with  violence  till  the  storm  bursts  and  there 
leap  out  the  lurid,  dark  insanities  of  crime.  Brood- 
ing, while  in  the  air  flies  chased  each  other,  insects 
crawled  together  in  the  grass,  and  the  first  principle 
of  nature  worked  everywhere  its  sane  fulfilment. 
They  might  talk  and  take  evidence  as  they  would, 
be  shrewd  and  sharp  with  all  the  petty  sharpness  of 


THE  FREELANDS  363 

the  Law;  but  the  secret  springs  would  still  lie  undis- 
closed, too  natural  and  true  to  bear  the  light  of  day. 
The  probings  and  eloquence  of  justice  would  never 
paint  the  picture  of  that  moment  of  maniacal  relief, 
when,  with  jaw  hanging  loose,  eyes  bulging  hi  exul- 
tation of  revenge,  he  had  struck  those  matches  with 
his  hairy  hands  and  let  them  flare  in  the  straw,  till 
the  little  red  flames  ran  and  licked,  rustled  and  licked, 
and  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  watch  them  lick  and 
burn.  Nor  of  that  sudden  wildness  of  dumb  fear 
that  rushed  into  the  heart  of  the  crouching  creature, 
changing  the  madness  of  his  face  to  palsy.  Nor  of 
the  recoil  from  the  burning  stack;  those  moments 
empty  with  terror.  Nor  of  how  terror,  through 
habit  of  inarticulate,  emotionless  existence,  gave 
place  again  to  brute  stolidity.  And  so,  heavily  back 
across  the  dewy  fields,  under  the  larks'  songs,  the 
cooings  of  pigeons,  the  hum  of  wings,  and  all  the 
unconscious  rhythm  of  ageless  Nature.  No !  The 
probings  of  Justice  could  never  reach  the  whole  truth. 
And  even  Justice  quailed  at  its  own  probings  when 
the  mother-child  was  passed  up  from  Tod's  side  into 
the  witness-box  and  the  big  laborer  was  seen  to  look 
at  her  and  she  at  him.  She  seemed  to  have  grown 
taller;  her  pensive  little  face  and  beautifully  fluffed- 
out  corn-brown  hair  had  an  eerie  beauty,  perched  up 
there  in  the  arid  witness-box,  as  of  some  small  figure 
from  the  brush  of  Botticelli. l 

"Your  name,  my  dear?" 

"Biddy  Tryst." 

"How  old?" 


364  THE  FREELANDS 

"Ten  next  month,  please." 

"Do  you  remember  going  to  live  at  Mr.  Free- 
land's  cottage?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  do  you  remember  the  first  night?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Where  did  you  sleep,  Biddy?" 

"Please,  sir,  we  slept  in  a  big  room  with  a  screen. 
Billy  and  Susie  and  me;  and  father  behind  the 


screen. ' 


"And  where  was  the  room?" 

"Down-stairs,  sir." 

"Now,  Biddy,  what  time  did  you  wake  up  the 
first  morning?" 

"When  Father  got  up." 

"Was  that  early  or  late?" 

"Very  early."  ' 

"Would  you  know  the  time?" 

"No,  sir." 

"But  it  was  very  early;  how  did  you  know  that?" 

"It  was  a  long  time  before  we  had  any  breakfast. " 

"And  what  time  did  you  have  breakfast?" 

"Half  past  six  by  the  kitchen  clock. " 

"Was  it  light  when  you  woke  up?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"When  Father  got  up,  did  he  dress  or  did  he  go  to 
bed  again?" 

"He  hadn't  never  undressed,  sir." 

"Then  did  he  stay  with  you  or  did  he  go  out?" 

"Out,  sir." 

"And  how  long  was  it  before  he  came  back?" 


THE  FREELANDS  365 

"When  I  was  puttin'  on  Billy's  boots." 

"What  had  you  done  in  between?" 

"Helped  Susie  and  dressed  Billy. " 

"And  how  long  does  that  take  you  generally?" 

"Half  an  hour,  sir." 

"I  see.  What  did  Father  look  like  when  he  came 
in,  Biddy?" 

The  mother-child  paused.  For  the  first  time  it 
seemed  to  dawn  on  her  that  there  was  something 
dangerous  in  these  questions.  She  twisted  her  small 
hands  before  her  and  gazed  at  her  father. 

The  judge  said  gently: 

"Well,  my  child?" 

"Like  he  does  now,  sir." 

"Thank  you,  Biddy." 

That  was  all;  the  mother-child  was  suffered  to  step 
down  and  take  her  place  again  by  Tod.  And  in  the 
silence  rose  the  short  and  rubbery  report  of  little  Mr. 
Pogram  blowing  his  nose.  No  evidence  given  that 
morning  was  so  conclusive,  actual,  terrible  as  that 
unconscious:  "Like  he  does  now,  sir."  That  was 
why  even  Justice  quailed  a  little  at  its  own  probings. 

From  this  moment  the  boy  knew  that  Tryst's  fate 
was  sealed.  What  did  all  those  words  matter,  those 
professional  patterings  one  way  and  the  other;  the 
professional  jeers:  'My  friend  has  told  you  this' 
and  l  My  friend  will  tell  you  that. '  The  professional 
steering  of  the  impartial  judge,  seated  there  above 
them  all;  the  cold,  calculated  rhapsodies  about  the 
heinousness  of  arson;  the  cold  and  calculated  attack 
on  the  characters  of  the  stone-breaker  witness  and 


366  THE  FREELANDS 

the  tramp  witness;  the  cold  and  calculated  patter  of 
the  appeal  not  to  condemn  a  father  on  the  evidence 
of  his  little  child;  the  cold  and  calculated  outburst 
on  the  right  of  every  man  to  be  assumed  innocent 
except  on  overwhelming  evidence  such  as  did  not 
here  exist.  The  cold  and  calculated  balancing  of 
pro  and  con;  and  those  minutes  of  cold  calculation 
veiled  from  the  eyes  of  the  court.  Even  the  verdict: 
'Guilty';  even  the  judgment:  i Three  years'  penal 
servitude. '  All  nothing,  all  superfluity  to  the  boy 
supporting  the  tragic  gaze  of  Tryst's  eyes  and  making 
up  his  mind  to  a  desperate  resort. 

"Three  years'  penal  servitude !"  The  big  laborer 
paid  no  more  attention  to  those  words  than  to  any 
others  spoken  during  that  hour's  settlement  of  his 
fate.  True,  he  received  them  standing,  as  is  the  cus- 
tom, fronting  the  image  of  Justice,  from  whose  lips 
they  came.  But  by  no  single  gesture  did  he  let  any 
one  see  the  dumb  depths  of  his  soul.  If  life  had 
taught  him  nothing  else,  it  had  taught  him  never  to 
express  himself.  Mute  as  any  bullock  led  into  the 
slaughtering-house,  with  something  of  a  bullock'^ 
dulled  and  helpless  fear  in  his  eyes,  he  passed  down 
and  away  between  his  jailers.  And  at  once  the 
professional  noises  rose,  and  the  professional  rhap- 
sodists,  hunching  their  gowns,  swept  that  little  lot 
of  papers  into  their  pink  tape,  and,  turning  to  their 
neighbors,  smiled,  and  talked,  and  jerked  their  eye- 
brows. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE  nest  on  the  Spaniard's  Road  had  not  been  able 
to  contain  Sheila  long.  There  are  certain  natures, 
such  as  that  of  Felix,  to  whom  the  claims  and  exer- 
cise of  authority  are  abhorrent,  who  refuse  to  exer- 
cise it  themselves  and  rage  when  they  see  it  exer- 
cised over  others,  but  who  somehow  never  come  into 
actual  conflict  with  it.  There  are  other  natures, 
such  as  Sheila's,  who  do  not  mind  in  the  least  exer- 
cising authority  themselves,  but  who  oppose  it  vig- 
orously when  they  feel  it  coming  near  themselves 
or  some  others.  Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  militancy. 
Her  experience  with  the  police  had  sunk  deep  into  her 
soul.  They  had  not,  as  a  fact,  treated  her  at  all 
badly,  which  did  not  prevent  her  feeling  as  if  they 
had  outraged  in  her  the  dignity  of  woman.  She 
arrived,  therefore,  in  Hampstead  seeing  red  even 
where  red  was  not.  And  since,  undoubtedly,  much 
real  red  was  to  be  seen,  there  was  little  other  color  in 
the  world  or  in  her  cheeks  those  days.  Long  disa- 
greements with  Alan,  to  whom  she  was  still  a  magnet 
but  whose  Stanley-like  nature  stood  firm  against  the 
blandishments  of  her  revolting  tongue,  drove  her 
more  and  more  toward  a  decision  the  seeds  of  which 
had,  perhaps,  been  planted  during  her  former  stay 
among  the  breezy  airs  of  Hampstead. 

Felix,  coming  one  day  into  his»  wife's  study — for 

367 


368  THE  FREELANDS 

the  house  knew  not  the  word  drawing-room — found 
Flora,  with  eyebrows  lifted  up  and  smiling  lips, 
listening  to  Sheila  proclaiming  the  doctrine  that  it 
was  impossible  not  to  live  '  on  one's  own. '  Nothing 
else — Felix  learned — was  compatible  with  dignity, 
or  even  with  peace  of  mind.  She  had,  therefore, 
taken  a  back  room  high  up  in  a  back  street,  in 
which  she  was  going  to  live  perfectly  well  on  ten 
shillings  a  week;  and,  having  thirty- two  pounds  saved 
up,  she  would  be  all  right  for  a  year,  after  which  she 
would  be  able  to  earn  her  living.  The  principle  she 
purposed  to  keep  before  her  eyes  was  that  of  com- 
mitting herself  to  nothing  which  would  seriously  in- 
terfere with  her  work  in  life.  Somehow,  it  was  im- 
possible to  look  at  this  girl,  with  her  glowing  cheeks 
and  her  glowing  eyes,  and  her  hair  frizzy  from  ardor, 
and  to  distrust  her  utterances.  Yes !  She  would 
arrive,  if  not  where  she  wanted,  at  all  events  some- 
where; which,  after  all,  was  the  great  thing.  And 
in  fact  she  did  arrive  the  very  next  day  in  the  back 
room  high  up  in  the  back  street,  and  neither  Tod's 
cottage  nor  the  house  on  the  Spaniard's  Road  saw 
more  than  flying  gleams  of  her,  thenceforth. 

Another  by-product,  this,  of  that  little  starting 
episode,  the  notice  given  to  Tryst !  Strange  how  in 
life  one  little  incident,  one  little  piece  of  living  stress, 
can  attract  and  gather  round  it  the  feelings,  thoughts, 
actions  of  people  whose  lives  run  far  and  wide  away 
therefrom.  But  episodes  are  thus  potent  only  when 
charged  with  a  significance  that  comes  from  the  clash 
of  the  deepest  instincts. 

During  the  six  weeks  which  had  elapsed  between 


THE  FREELANDS  369 

his  return  home  from  Joyfields  and  the  assizes,  Felix 
had  much  leisure  to  reflect  that  if  Lady  Malloring 
had  not  caused  Tryst  to  be  warned  that  he  could 
not  marry  his  deceased  wife's  sister  and  continue  to 
stay  on  the  estate — the  lives  of  Felix  himself,  his 
daughter,  mother,  brother,  brother's  wife,  their  son 
and  daughter,  and  in  less  degree  of  his  other  brothers, 
would  have  been  free  of  a  preoccupation  little  short 
of  ludicrous  in  proportion  to  the  face  value  of  the 
cause.  But  he  had  leisure,  too,  to  reflect  that  in 
reality  the  issue  involved  in  that  tiny  episode  con- 
cerned human  existence  to  its  depths — for,  what 
was  it  but  the  simple,  all-important  question  of 
human  freedom?  The  simple,  all-important  issue 
of  how  far  men  and  women  should  try  to  rule  the 
lives  of  others  instead  of  trying  only  to  rule  their 
own,  and  how  far  those  others  should  allow  their 
lives  to  be  so  ruled?  This  it  was  which  gave  that 
episode  its  power  of  attracting  and  affecting  the 
thoughts,  feelings,  actions  of  so  many  people  other- 
wise remote.  And  though  Felix  was  paternal  enough 
to  say  to  himself  nearly  all  the  time,  'I  can't  let 
Nedda  get  further  into  this  mess ! '  he  was  philoso- 
pher enough  to  tell  himself,  in  the  unfatherly  balance 
of  his  hours,  that  the  mess  was  caused  by  the  fight 
best  of  all  worth  fighting — of  democracy  against 
autocracy,  of  a  man's  right  to  do  as  he  likes  with  his 
life  if  he  harms  not  others;  of  'the  Land'  against  the 
fetterers  of  'the  Land.'  And  he  was  artist  enough 
to  see  how  from  that  little  starting  episode  the  whole 
business  had  sprung — given,  of  course,  the  entrance 
of  the  wilful  force  called  love.  But  a  father,  es- 


370  THE  FREELANDS 

pecially  when  he  has  been  thoroughly  alarmed,  gives 
the  artist  and  philosopher  in  him  short  shrift. 

Nedda  came  home  soon  after  Sheila  went,  and  to 
the  eyes  of  Felix  she  came  back  too  old  and  thought- 
ful altogether.  How  different  a  girl  from  the  Nedda 
who  had  so  wanted  'to  know  everything'  that  first 
night  of  May !  What  was  she  brooding  over,  what 
planning,  in  that  dark,  round,  pretty  head?  At 
what  resolve  were  those  clear  eyes  so  swiftly  raised 
to  look?  What  was  going  on  within,  when  her 
breast  heaved  so,  without  seeming  cause,  and  the 
color  rushed  up  in  her  cheeks  at  a  word,  as  though 
she  had  been  so  far  away  that  the  effort  of  recall 
was  alone  enough  to  set  all  her  veins  throbbing. 
And  yet  Felix  could  devise  no  means  of  attack  on  her 
infatuation.  For  a  man  cannot  cultivate  the  habit 
of  never  interfering  and  then  suddenly  throw  it 
over;  least  of  all  when  the  person  to  be  interfered 
with  is  his  pet  and  only  daughter. 

Flora,  not  of  course  in  the  swim  of  those  happen- 
ings at  Joyfields,  could  not  be  got  to  take  the  matter 
very  seriously.  In  fact — beyond  what  concerned 
Felix  himself  and  poetry — the  matter  that  she  did 
take  seriously  had  yet  to  be  discovered.  Hers  was 
one  of  those  semi-detached  natures  particularly 
found  in  Hampstead.  When  exhorted  to  help  tackle 
the  question,  she  could  only  suggest  that  Felix  should 
take  them  all  abroad  when  he  had  finished  'The 
Last  of  the  Laborers. '  A  tour,  for  instance,  in  Nor- 
way and  Sweden,  where  none  of  them  had  ever  been, 
and  perhaps  down  through  Finland  into  Russia. 


THE  FREELANDS  371 

Feeling  like  one  who  squirts  on  a  burning  hay- 
stack with  a  garden  syringe,  Felix  propounded  this 
scheme  to  his  little  daughter.  She  received  it  with 
a  start,  a  silence,  a  sort  of  quivering  all  over,  as  of  an 
animal  who  scents  danger.  She  wanted  to  know 
when,  and  being  told — 'not  before  the  middle  of 
August',  relapsed  into  her  preoccupation  as  if  noth- 
ing had  been  said.  Felix  noted  on  the  hall  table 
one  afternoon  a  letter  in  her  handwriting,  addressed 
to  a  Worcester  newspaper,  and  remarked  thereafter 
that  she  began  to  receive  this  journal  daily,  obviously 
with  a  view  to  reports  of  the  coming  assizes.  Once 
he  tried  to  break  through  into  her  confidence.  It 
was  August  Bank  Holiday,  and  they  had  gone  out  on 
to  the  heath  together  to  see  the  people  wonderfully 
assembled.  Coming  back  across  the  burnt-up  grass, 
strewn  with  paper  bags,  banana  peel,  and  the  cores 
of  apples,  he  hooked  his  hand  into  her  arm. 

"What  is  to  be  done  with  a  child  that  goes  about 
all  day  thinking  and  thinking  and  not  telling  any- 
body what  she  is  thinking?" 

She  smiled  round  at  him  and  answered: 
"I  know,  Dad.     She  is  a  pig,  isn't  she?" 
This  comparison  with  an  animal  of  proverbial 
stubbornness  was  not  encouraging.     Then  his  hand 
was  squeezed  to  her  side  and  he  heard  her  murmur: 
"I  wonder  if  all  daughters  are  such  beasts!" 
He  understood  well  that  she  had  meant:     ' There 
is  only  one  thing  I  want — one  thing  I  mean  to  have — 
one  thing  in  the  world  for  me  now ! ' 
And  he  said  soberly: 


372  THE  FREELANDS 

"We  can't  expect  anything  else." 

"Oh,  Daddy!"  she  answered,  but  nothing  more. 

Only  four  days  later  she  came  to  his  study  with  a 
letter,  and  a  face  so  flushed  and  troubled  that  he 
dropped  his  pen  and  got  up  in  alarm. 

"  Read  this,  Dad !  It's  impossible !  It's  not  true ! 
It's  terrible !  Oh !  What  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

The  letter  ran  thus,  in  a  straight,  boyish  hand- 
writing: 

"ROYAL  CHARLES  HOSTEL, 

WORCESTER,  Aug.  yth. 
"My  NEDDA, 

"I  have  just  seen  Bob  tried.  They  have  given  him  three 
years'  penal.  It  was  awful  to  sit  there  and  watch  him.  He 
can  never  stand  it.  It  was  awful  to  watch  him  looking  at  me. 
It's  no  good.  I'm  going  to  give  myself  up.  I  must  do  it. 
I've  got  everything  ready;  they'll  have  to  believe  me  and 
squash  his  sentence.  You  see,  but  for  me  it  would  never 
have  been  done.  It's  a  matter  of  honour.  I  can't  let  him 
suffer  any  more.  This  isn't  impulse.  I've  been  meaning 
to  do  it  for  some  time,  if  they  found  him  guilty.  So  in  a  way, 
it's  an  immense  relief.  I'd  like  to  have  seen  you  first,  but 
it  would  only  distress  you,  and  I  might  not  have  been  able 
to  go  through  with  it  after.  Nedda,  darling,  if  you  still  love 
me  when  I  get  out,  we'll  go  to  New  Zealand,  away  from  this 
country  where  they  bully  poor  creatures  like  Bob.  Be 
brave !  I'll  write  to-morrow,  if  they  let  me. 

"Your 

"DEREK." 

The  first  sensation  in  Felix  on  reading  this  effusion 
was  poignant  recollection  of  the  little  lawyer's  look 
after  Derek  had  made  the  scene  at  Tryst's  committal 
and  of  his  words:  '  No  thing  in  it,  is  there?'  His 


THE  FREELANDS  373 

second  thought:  'Is  this  the  cutting  of  the  knot  that 
I've  been  looking  for?'  His  third,  which  swept  all 
else  away:  'My  poor  little  darling!  What  business 
has  that  boy  to  hurt  her  again  like  this!' 

He  heard  her  say: 

"Tryst  told  me  himself  he  did  it,  Dad !  He  told 
me  when  I  went  to  see  him  in  the  prison.  Honour 
doesn't . demand  what  isn't  true!  Oh,  Dad,  help 
me!" 

Felix  was  slow  in  getting  free  from  the  cross  cur- 
rents of  reflection.  "He  wrote  this  last  night," 
he  said  dismally.  "He  may  have  done  it  already. 
We  must  go  and  see  John." 

Nedda  clasped  her  hands.     "Ah!    Yes!" 

And  Felix  had  not  the  heart  to  add  what  he  was 
thinking:  'Not  that  I  see  what  good  he  can  do!' 
But,  though  sober  reason  told  him  this,  it  was  as- 
tonishingly comforting  to  be  going  to  some  one  who 
could  be  relied  on  to  see  the  facts  of  the  situation 
without  any  of  that  'flimflam'  with  which  imagina- 
tion is  accustomed  to  surround  them.  "And  we'll 
send  Derek  a  wire  for  what  it's  worth. " 

They  went  at  once  to  the  post-office,  Felix  com- 
posing this  message  on  the  way:  'Utterly  mistaken 
chivalry  you  have  no  right  await  our  arrival  Felix 
Freeland. '  He  handed  it  to  her  to  read,  and  passed 
it  under  the  brass  railing  to  the  clerk,  not  without 
the  feeling  of  shame  due  from  one  who  uses  the  word 
chivalry  in  a  post-office. 

On  the  way  to  the  Tube  station  he  held  her  arm 
tightly,  but  whether  to  impart  courage  or  receive 


374  THE  FREELANDS 

it  he  could  not  have  said,  so  strung-up  in  spirit  did 
he  feel  her.  With  few  words  exchanged  they  reached 
Whitehall.  Marking  their  card  '  Urgent, '  they  were 
received  within  ten  minutes. 

John  was  standing  in  a  high,  white  room,  smelling 
a  little  of  papers  and  tobacco,  and  garnished  solely 
by  five  green  chairs,  a  table,  and  a  bureau  with  an 
immense  number  of  pigeonholes,  whereat  he  had 
obviously  been  seated.  Quick  to  observe  what  con- 
cerned his  little  daughter,  Felix  noted  how  her 
greeting  trembled  up  at  her  uncle  and  how  a  sort  of 
warmth  thawed  for  the  moment  the  regularity  of 
his  brother's  face.  When  they  had  taken  two  of  the 
five  green  chairs  and  John  was  back  at  his  bureau, 
Felix  handed  over  the  letter.  John  read  it  and 
looked  at  Nedda.  Then  taking  a  pipe  out  of  his 
pocket,  which  he  had  evidently  filled  before  they 
came  in,  he  lighted  it  and  re-read  the  letter.  Then, 
looking  very  straight  at  Nedda,  he  said: 

"Nothing  in  it?    Honour  bright,  my  dear!" 

"No,  Uncle  John,  nothing.  Only  that  he  fancies 
his  talk  about  injustice  put  it  into  Tryst's  head." 

John  nodded;  the  girl's  face  was  evidence  enough 
for  him. 

"Any  proof?" 

"Tryst  himself  told  me  in  the  prison  that  he  did  it. 
He  said  it  came  on  him  suddenly,  when  he  saw  the 
straw. " 

A  pause  followed  before  John  said: 

"  Good  !  You  and  I  and  your  father  will  go  down 
and  see  the  police. " 


THE  FREELANDS  375 

Nedda  lifted  her  hands  and  said  breathlessly: 

"But,  Uncle!  Dad!  Have  I  the  right?  He 
says — honour.  Won't  it  be  betraying  him?" 

Felix  could  not  answer,  but  with  relief  he  heard 
John  say: 

"It's  not  honorable  to  cheat  the  law." 


"No;  but  he  trusted  me  or  he  wouldn't  have 
written." 

John  answered  slowly: 

"I  think  your  duty's  plain,  my  dear.  The  ques- 
tion for  the  police  will  be  whether  or  not  to  take 
notice  of  this  false  confession.  For  us  to  keep  the 
knowledge  that  it's  false  from  them,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, is  clearly  not  right.  Besides  being, 
to  my  mind,  foolish. " 

For  Felix  to  watch  this  mortal  conflict  going  on 
in  the  soul  of  his  daughter — that  soul  which  used  to 
seem,  perhaps  even  now  seemed,  part  of  himself; 
to  know  that  she  so  desperately  wanted  help  for 
her  decision,  and  to  be  unable  to  give  it,  unable  even 
to  trust  himself  to  be  honest — this  was  hard  for 
Felix.  There  she  sat,  staring  before  her;  and  only 
her  tight-clasped  hands,  the  little  movements  of  her 
lips  and  throat,  showed  the  struggle  going  on  in  her. 

"I  couldn't,  without  seeing  him;  I  must  see  him 
first,  Uncle!" 

John  got  up  and  went  over  to  the  window;  he,  too, 
had  been  affected  by  her  face. 

"You  realize,"  he  said,  "that  you  risk  everything 
by  that.  If  he's  given  himself  up,  and  they've 
believed  him,  he's  not  the  sort  to  let  it  fall  through. 


376  THE  FREELANDS 

You  cut  off  your  chance  if  he  won't  let  you  tell. 
Better  for  your  father  and  me  to  see  him  first,  any- 
way. "  And  Felix  heard  a  mutter  that  sounded  like: 
1  Confound  him!' 

Nedda  rose.     "Can  we  go  at  once,  then,  Uncle?" 
With  a  solemnity  that  touched  Felix,  John  put  a 
hand  on  each  side  of  her  face,  raised  it,  and  kissed 
her  on  the  forehead. 

"All  right!"  he  said.     "Let's  be  off!" 
A  silent  trio  sought  Paddington  in  a  taxi-cab, 
digesting  this  desperate  climax  of  an  affair  that 
sprang  from  origins  so  small. 

In  Felix,  contemplating  his  daughter's  face,  there 
was  profound  compassion,  but  also  that  family  dis- 
may, that  perturbation  of  self-esteem,  which  public 
scandal  forces  on  kinsmen,  even  the  most  philosophic. 
He  felt  exasperation  against  Derek,  against  Kirsteen, 
almost  even  against  Tod,  for  having  acquiesced 
passively  in  the  revolutionary  bringing-up  which  had 
brought  on  such  a  disaster.  War  against  injustice; 
sympathy  with  suffering;  chivalry!  Yes!  But  not 
quite  to  the  point  whence  they  recoiled  on  his 
daughter,  his  family,  himself!  The  situation  was 
impossible !  He  was  fast  resolving  that,  whether 
or  no  they  saved  Derek  from  this  quixotry,  the  boy 
should  not  have  Nedda.  And  already  his  eyes 
found  difficulty  in  meeting  hers. 

They  secured  a  compartment  to  themselves  and, 
having  settled  down  in  corners,  began  mechani- 
cally unfolding  evening  journals.  For  after  all, 
whatever  happens,  one  must  read  the  papers ! 


THE  FREELANDS  377 

Without  that,  life  would  indeed  be  insupportable ! 
Felix  had  bought  Mr.  Cuthcott's,  but,  though  he 
turned  and  turned  the  sheets,  they  seemed  to  have 
no  sense  till  these  words  caught  his  eyes:  "Con- 
vict's tragic  death!  Yesterday  afternoon  at  Wor- 
cester, while  being  conveyed  from  the  assize  court 
back  to  prison,  a  man  named  Tryst,  sentenced  to 
three  years'  penal  servitude  for  arson,  suddenly 
attacked  the  warders  in  charge  of  him  and  escaped. 
He  ran  down  the  street,  hotly  pursued,  and,  darting 
out  into  the  traffic,  threw  himself  under  a  motor-car 
going  at  some  speed.  The  car  struck  him  on  the 
head,  and  the  unfortunate  man  was  killed  on  the 
spot.  No  reason  whatever  can  be  assigned  for  this 
desperate  act.  He  is  known,  however,  to  have 
suffered  from  epilepsy,  and  it  is  thought  an  attack 
may  have  been  coming  on  him  at  the  time. " 

When  Felix  had  read  these  words  he  remained  ab- 
solutely still,  holding  that  buff -colored  paper  before 
his  face,  trying  to  decide  what  he  must  do  now. 
What  was  the  significance — exactly  the  significance 
of  this  ?  Now  that  Tryst  was  dead,  Derek's  quixotic 
action  had  no  meaning.  But  had  he  already  '  con- 
fessed'? It  seemed  from  this  account  that  the  sui- 
cide was  directly  after  the  trial;  even  before  the 
boy's  letter  to  Nedda  had  been  written.  He  must 
surely  have  heard  of  it  since  and  given  up  his  mad 
idea !  He  leaned  over,  touched  John  on  the  knee, 
and  handed  him  the  paper.  John  read  the  para- 
graph, handed  it  back;  and  the  two  brothers  stared 
fixedly  at  each  other.  Then  Felix  made  the  faintest 


378  THE  FREELANDS 

movement  of  his  head  toward  his  daughter,  and 
John  nodded.  Crossing  to  Nedda,  Felix  hooked  his 
arm  in  hers  and  said: 

"Just  look  at  this,  my  child." 

Nedda  read,  started  to  her  feet,  sank  back,  and 
cried  out: 

"Poor,  poor  man !    Oh,  Dad !    Poor  man ! " 

Felix  felt  ashamed.  Though  Tryst's  death  meant 
so  much  relief  to  her,  she  felt  first  this  rush  of  com- 
passion; he  himself,  to  whom  it  meant  so  much  less 
relief,  had  felt  only  that  relief. 

"He  said  he  couldn't  stand  it;  he  told  me  that. 
But  I  never  thought —  Oh !  Poor  man ! "  And, 
burying  her  face  against  his  arm,  she  gave  way. 

Petrified,  and  conscious  that  John  at  the  far  end 
of  the  carriage  was  breathing  rather  hard,  Felix 
could  only  stroke  her  arm  till  at  last  she  whispered: 

"There's  nobody  now  for  Derek  to  save.  Oh, 
if  you'd  seen  that  poor  man  in  prison,  Dad !" 

And  the  only  words  of  comfort  Felix  could  find 
were: 

"My  child,  there  are  thousands  and  thousands  of 
poor  prisoners  and  captives !" 

In  a  truce  to  agitation  they  spent  the  rest  of  that 
three  hours'  journey,  while  the  tram  rattled  and 
rumbled  through  the  quiet,  happy-looking  land. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

IT  was  tea-time  when  they  reached  Worcester, 
and  at  once  went  up  to  the  Royal  Charles  Hostel. 
A  pretty  young  woman  in  the  office  there  informed 
them  that  the  young  gentleman  had  paid  his  bill  and 
gone  out  about  ten  o'clock;  but  had  left  his  luggage. 
She  had  not  seen  him  come  in.  His  room  was  up 
that  little  staircase  at  the  end  of  the  passage.  There 
was  another  entrance  that  he  might  have  come  in  at. 
The  'Boots7  would  take  them. 

Past  the  hall  stuffed  with  furniture  and  decorated 
with  the  stags'  heads  and  battle-prints  common  to 
English  county-town  hotels,  they  followed  the 
'Boots'  up  five  red-carpeted  steps,  down  a  dingy 
green  corridor,  to  a  door  at  the  very  end.  There 
was  no  answer  to  their  knock.  The  dark  little  room, 
with  striped  walls,  and  more  battle-prints,  looked 
out  on  a  side  street  and  smelled  dusty.  On  a  shiny 
leather  sofa  an  old  valise,  strapped-up  ready  for 
departure,  was  reposing  with  Felix's  telegram,  un- 
opened, deposited  thereon.  Writing  on  his  card, 
"Have  come  down  with  Nedda.  F.  F.,"  and  laying 
it  on  the  telegram,  in  case  Derek  should  come  in  by 
the  side  entrance,  Felix  and  Nedda  rejoined  John  in 
the  hall. 

To  wait  in  anxiety  is  perhaps*  the  hardest  thing 

379 


380  THE  FREELANDS 

in  life;  tea,  tobacco,  and  hot  baths  perhaps  the 
only  anodynes.  These,  except  the  baths,  they  took. 
Without  knowing  what  had  happened,  neither  John 
nor  Felix  liked  to  make  inquiry  at  the  police  station, 
nor  did  they  care  to  try  and  glean  knowledge  from 
the  hotel  people  by  questions  that  might  lead  to 
gossip.  They  could  but  kick  their  heels  till  it  be- 
came reasonably  certain  that  Derek  was  not  coming 
back.  The  enforced  waiting  increased  Felix's  ex- 
asperation. Everything  Derek  did  seemed  designed 
to  cause  Nedda  pain.  To  watch  her  sitting  there, 
trying  resolutely  to  mask  her  anxiety,  became  intoler- 
able. At  last  he  got  up  and  said  to  John: 

"I  think  we'd  better  go  round  there,"  and,  John 
nodding,  he  added:  "Wait  here,  my  child.  Ona  of 
us'll  come  back  at  once  and  tell  you  anything  we 
hear.7' 

She  gave  them  a  grateful  look  and  the  two  brothers 
went  out.  They  had  not  gone  twenty  yards  when 
they  met  Derek  striding  along,  pale,  wild,  unhappy- 
looking.  When  Felix  touched  him  on  the  arm,  he 
started  and  stared  blankly  at  his  uncle. 

"We've  seen  about  Tryst,"  Felix  said:  "You've 
not  done  anything?" 

Derek  shook  his  head. 

"Good!  John,  tell  Nedda  that,  and  stay  with 
her  a  bit.  I  want  to  talk  to  Derek.  We'll  go  in  the 
other  way. "  He  put  his  hand  under  the  boy's  arm 
and  turned  him  down  into  the  side  street.  When 
they  reached  the  gloomy  little  bedroom  Felix 
pointed  to  the  telegram. 


THE  FREELANDS  381 

"From  me.  I  suppose  the  news  of  his  death 
stopped  you?" 

"Yes."  Derek  opened  the  telegram,  dropped  it, 
and  sat  down  beside  his  valise  on  the  shiny  sofa. 
He  looked  positively  haggard. 

Taking  his  stand  against  the  chest  of  drawers, 
Felix  said  quietly: 

"I'm  going  to  have  it  out  with  you,  Derek.  Do 
you  understand  what  all  this  means  to  Nedda? 
Do  you  realize  how  utterly  unhappy  you're  making 
her?  I  don't  suppose  you're  happy  yourself " 

The  boy's  whole  figure  writhed. 

"Happy !  When  you've  killed  some  one  you  don't 
think  much  of  happiness — your  own  or  any  one's !" 

Startled  in  his  turn,  Felix  said  sharply: 

"Don't   talk   like   that.     It's   monomania." 

Derek  laughed.  "Bob  Tryst's  dead — through 
me !  I  can't  get  out  of  that. " 

Gazing  at  the  boy's  tortured  face,  Felix  grasped 
the  gruesome  fact  that  this  idea  amounted  to  ob- 
session. 

"Derek,"  he  said,  "you've  dwelt  on  this  till  you 
see  it  out  of  all  proportion.  If  we  took  to  ourselves 
the  remote  consequences  of  all  our  words  we  should 
none  of  us  survive  a  week.  You're  overdone.  You'll 
see  it  differently  to-morrow." 

Derek  got  up  to  pace  the  room. 

"I  swear  I  would  have  saved  him.  I  tried  to  do  it 
when  they  committed  him  at  Transham. "  He 
looked  wildly  at  Felix.  "  Didn't  I  ?  You  were  there; 
you  heard ! " 


382  THE  FREELANDS 

"Yes,  yes;  I  heard." 

"They  wouldn't  let  me  then.  I  thought  they 
mightn't  find  him  guilty  here— so  I  let  it  go  on.  And 
now  he's  dead.  You  don't  know  how  I  feel!" 

His  throat  was  working,  and  Felix  said  with  real 
compassion: 

"My  dear  boy!  Your  sense  of  honour  is  too 
extravagant  altogether.  A  grown  man  like  poor 
Tryst  knew  perfectly  what  he  was  doing. " 

"No.  He  was  like  a  dog — he  did  what  he  thought 
was  expected  of  him.  I  never  meant  him  to  burn 
those  ricks. " 

"Exactly !  No  one  can  blame  you  for  a  few  wild 
words.  He  might  have  been  the  boy  and  you  the 
man  by  the  way  you  take  it !  Come ! " 

Derek  sat  down  again  on  the  shiny  sofa  and  buried 
his  head  in  his  hands. 

"I  can't  get  away  from  him.  He's  been  with  me 
all  day.  I  see  him  all  the  time." 

That  the  boy  was  really  haunted  was  only  too 
apparent.  How  to  attack  this  mania  ?  If  one  could 
make  him  feel  something  else !  And  Felix  said : 

"Look  here,  Derek!  Before  you've  any  right  to 
Nedda  you've  got  to  find  ballast.  That's  a  matter 
of  honour,  if  you  like. " 

Derek  flung  up  his  head  as  if  to  escape  a  blow. 
Seeing  that  he  had  riveted  him,  Felix  pressed  on, 
with  some  sternness: 

"A  man  can't  serve  two  passions.  You  must  give 
up  this  championing  the  weak  and  lighting-  flames 
you  can't  control.  See  what  it  leads  to!  You've 


THE  FREELANDS  383 

got  to  grow  and  become  a  man.  Until  then  I  don't 
trust  my  daughter  to  you. " 

The  boy's  lips  quivered;  a  flush  darkened  his  face, 
ebbed,  and  left  him  paler  than  ever. 

Felix  felt  as  if  he  had  hit  that  face.  Still,  any- 
thing was  better  than  to  leave  him  under  this  grue- 
some obsession !  Then,  to  his  consternation,  Derek 
stood  up  and  said: 

"If  I  go  and  see  his  body  at  the  prison,  perhaps 
he'll  leave  me  alone  a  little ! " 

Catching  at  that,  as  he  would  have  caught  at  any- 
thing, Felix  said: 

"Good!  Yes!  Go  and  see  the  poor  fellow; 
we'll  come,  too." 

And  he  went  out  to  find  Nedda. 

By  the  time  they  reached  the  street  Derek  had 
already  started,  and  they  could  see  him  going  along 
in  front.  Felix  racked  his  brains  to  decide  whether 
he  ought  to  prepare  her  for  the  state  the  boy  was  in. 
Twice  he  screwed  himself  up  to  take  the  plunge,  but 
her  face — puzzled,  as  though  wondering  at  her  lover's 
neglect  of  her — stopped  him.  Better  say  nothing! 

Just  as  they  reached  the  prison  she  put  her  hand 
on  his  arm: 

"Look,  Dad!" 

And  Felix  read  on  the  corner  of  the  prison  lane 
those  words:  ' Love's  Walk' ! 

Derek  was  waiting  at  the  door.  After  some  diffi- 
culty they  were  admitted  and  taken  down  the  corri- 
dor where  the  prisoner  on  his  knees  had  stared  up  at 
Nedda,  past  the  courtyard  where  those  others  had 


384  THE  FREELANDS 

been  pacing  out  their  living  hieroglyphic,  up  steps 
to  the  hospital.  Here,  in  a  white-washed  room  on  a 
narrow  bed,  the  body  of  the  big  laborer  lay,  wrapped 
in  a  sheet. 

"We  bury  him  Friday,  poor  chap  !  Fine  big  man, 
too ! "  And  at  the  warder's  words  a  shudder  passed 
through  Felix.  The  frozen  tranquillity  of  that  body ! 

As  the  carved  beauty  of  great  buildings,  so  is  the 
graven  beauty  of  death,  the  unimaginable  wonder 
of  the  abandoned  thing  lying  so  quiet,  marvelling 
at  its  resemblance  to  what  once  lived  !  How  strange 
this  thing,  still  stamped  by  all  that  it  had  felt, 
wanted,  loved,  and  hated,  by  all  its  dumb,  hard, 
commonplace  existence !  This  thing  with  the  calm, 
pathetic  look  of  one  who  asks  of  his  own  fled  spirit: 
Why  have  you  abandoned  me? 

Death !  What  more  wonderful  than  a  dead  body 
—that  still  perfect  work  of  life,  for  which  life  has  no 
longer  use !  What  more  mysterious  than  this  sight 
of  what  still  is,  yet  is  not ! 

Below  the  linen  swathing  the  injured  temples,  those 
eyes  were  closed  through  which  such  yearning  had 
looked  forth.  From  that  face,  where  the  hair  had 
grown  faster  than  if  it  had  been  alive,  death's  majesty 
had  planed  away  the  aspect  of  brutality,  removed  the 
yearning,  covering  all  with  wistful  acquiescence. 
Was  his  departed  soul  coherent?  Where  was  it? 
Did  it  hover  in  this  room,  visible  still  to  the  boy? 
Did  it  stand  there  beside  what  was  left  of  Tryst  the 
laborer,  that  humblest  of  all  creatures  who  dared 
to  make  revolt — serf,  descendant  of  serfs,  who,  since 


THE  FREELANDS  385 

the  beginning,  had  hewn  wood,  drawn  water,  and 
done  the  will  of  others?  Or  was  it  winged,  and 
calling  in  space  to  the  souls  of  the  oppressed  ? 

This  body  would  go  back  to  the  earth  that  it  had 
tended,  the  wild  grass  would  grow  over  it,  the  seasons 
spend  wind  and  rain  forever  above  it.  But  that 
which  had  held  this  together — the  inarticulate, 
lowly  spirit,  hardly  asking  itself  why  things  should 
be,  faithful  as  a  dog  to  those  who  were  kind  to  it, 
obeying  the  dumb  instinct  of  a  violence  that  in  his 
betters  would  be  called  'high  spirit/  where — Felix 
wondered — where  was  it? 

And  what  were  they  thinking — Nedda  and  that 
haunted  boy — so  motionless?  Nothing  showed  on 
their  faces,  nothing  but  a  sort  of  living  concentra- 
tion, as  if  they  were  trying  desperately  to  pierce 
through  and  see  whatever  it  was  that  held  this  thing 
before  them  in  such  awful  stillness.  Their  firstj 
glimpse  of  death;  their  first  perception  of  that  ter-j 
rible  remoteness  of  the  dead!  No  wonder  they* 
seemed  to  be  conjured  out  of  the  power  of  thought 
and  feeling ! 

Nedda  was  first  to  turn  away.  Walking  back 
by  her  side,  Felix  was  surprised  by  her  composure. 
The  reality  of  death  had  not  been  to  her  half  so 
harrowing  as  the  news  of  it.  She  said  softly: 

"I'm  glad  to  have  seen  him  like  that;  now  I  shall 
think  of  him — at  peace;  not  as  he  was  that  other 
time." 

Derek  rejoined  them,  and  they  went  in  silence 
back  to  the  hotel.  But  at  the 'door  she  said: 


386  THE  FREELANDS 

"Come  with  me  to  the  cathedral,  Derek;  I  can't 
go  in  yet!" 

To  Felix's  dismay  the  boy  nodded,  and  they  turned 
to  go.  Should  he  stop  them?  Should  he  go  with 
them?  What  should  a  father  do?  And,  with  a 
heavy  sigh,  he  did  nothing  but  retire  into  the  hotel. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

IT  was  calm,  with  a  dark-blue  sky,  and  a  golden 
moon,  and  the  lighted  street  full  of  people  out  for 
airing.  The  great  cathedral,  cutting  the  heavens 
with  its  massive  towers,  was  shut.  No  means  of 
getting  in;  and  while  they  stood  there  looking  up  the 
thought  came  into  Nedda's  mind :  Where  would  they 
bury  poor  Tryst  who  had  killed  himself?  Would 
they  refuse  to  bury  that  unhappy  one  in  a  church- 
yard? Surely,  the  more  unhappy  and  desperate  he 
was,  the  kinder  they  ought  to  be  to  him ! 

They  turned  away  down  into  a  little  lane  where 
an  old,  white,  timbered  cottage  presided  ghostly 
at  the  corner.  Some  church  magnate  had  his  garden 
back  there;  and  it  was  quiet,  along  the  waving  line  of 
a  high  wall,  behind  which  grew  sycamores  spreading 
close-bunched  branches,  whose  shadows,  in  the  light 
of  the  corner  lamps,  lay  thick  along  the  ground  tin's 
glamourous  August  night.  A  chafer  buzzed  by,  a 
small  black  cat  played  with  its  tail  on  some  steps 
in  a  recess.  Nobody  passed. 

The  girl's  heart  was  beating  fast.  Derek's  face 
was  so  strange  and  strained.  And  he  had  not  yet 
said  one  word  to  her.  All  sorts  of  fears  and  fancies 
beset  her  till  she  was  trembling  all  over. 

"What  is  it?"  she  said  at  last.  "You  haven't— 
you_haven't  stopped  loving  me,  Derek?  " 


388  THE  FREELANDS 

"No  one  could  stop  loving  you." 

"What  is  it,  then?  Are  you  thinking  of  poor 
Tryst?" 

With  a  catch  in  his  throat  and  a  sort  of  choked 
laugh  he  answered: 

"Yes." 

"But  it's  all  over.    He's  at  peace." 

"Peace !"  Then,  in  a  queer,  dead  voice,  he  added: 
"I'm  sorry,  Nedda.  It's  beastly  for  you.  But  I 
can't  help  it." 

What  couldn't  he  help?  Why  did  he  keep  her 
suffering  like  this — not  telling  her?  What  was  this 
something  that  seemed  so  terribly  between  them? 
She  walked  on  silently  at  his  side,  conscious  of  the 
rustling  of  the  sycamores,  of  the  moonlit  angle  of 
the  church  magnate's  house,  of  the  silence  in  the 
lane,  and  the  gliding  of  their  own  shadows  along  the 
wall.  What  was  this  in  his  face,  his  thoughts,  that 
she  could  not  reach !  And  she  cried  out: 

"  Tell  me !  Oh,  tell  me,  Derek  !  I  can  go  through 
anything  with  you !" 

"I  can't  get  rid  of  him,  that's  all.  I  thought  he'd 
go  when  I'd  seen  him  there.  But  it's  no  good !" 

Terror  got  hold  of  her  then.  She  peered  at  his 
face — very  white  and-  haggard.  There  seemed  no 
blood  in  it.  They  were  going  down-hill  now,  along 
the  blank  wall  of  a  factory;  there  was  the  river  in 
front,  with  the  moonlight  on  it  and  boats  drawn  up 
along  the  bank.  From  a  chimney  a  scroll  of  black 
smoke  was  flung  out  across  the  sky,  and  a  lighted 
bridge  glowed  above  the  water.  They  turned  away 


THE  FREELANDS  389 

from  that,  passing  below  the  dark  pile  of  the  cathe- 
dral. Here  couples  still  lingered  on  benches  along 
the  river-bank,  happy  in  the  warm  night,  under  the 
August  moon !  And  on  and  on  they  walked  in  that 
strange,  miserable  silence,  past  all  those  benches  and 
couples,  out  on  the  river-path  by  the  fields,  where 
the  scent  of  hay-stacks,  and  the  freshness  from  the 
early  stubbles  and  the  grasses  webbed  with  dew, 
overpowered  the  faint  reek  of  the  river  mud.  And 
still  on  and  on  in  the  moonlight  that  haunted  through 
the  willows.  At  their  footsteps  the  water-rats 
scuttled  down  into  the  water  with  tiny  splashes;  a 
dog  barked  somewhere  a  long  way  off;  a  train 
whistled;  a  frog  croaked.  From  the  stubbles  and 
second  crops  of  sun-baked  clover  puffs  of  warm  air 
kept  stealing  up  into  the  chillier  air  beneath  the  wil- 
lows. Such  moonlit  nights  never  seem  to  sleep. 
And  there  was  a  kind  of  triumph  in  the  night's  smile, 
as  though  it  knew  that  it  ruled  the  river  and  the 
fields,  ruled  with  its  gleams  the  silent  trees  that  had 
given  up  all  rustling.  Suddenly  Derek  said: 

"He's  walking  with  us!    Look!    Over  there!" 
And  for  a  second  there  did  seem  to  Nedda  a  dim, 
gray  shape  moving  square  and  dogged,  parallel  with 
them  at  the  stubble  edges.     Gasping  out: 

"Oh,  no;  don't  frighten  me!  I  can't  bear  it  to- 
night!" She  hid  her  face  against  his  shoulder  like  a 
child.  He  put  his  arm  round  her  and  she  pressed 
her  face  deep  into  his  coat.  This  ghost  of  Bob  Tryst 
holding  him  away  from  her !  This  enemy !  This 
uncanny  presence !  She  pressed  closer,  closer,  and 


390  THE  FREELANDS 

put  her  face  up  to  his.  It  was  wonderfully  lonely, 
silent,  whispering,  with  the  moongleams  slipping 
through  the  willow  boughs  into  the  shadow  where 
they  stood.  And  from  his  arms  warmth  stole 
through  her!  Closer  and  closer  she  pressed,  not 
quite  knowing  what  she  did,  not  quite  knowing  any- 
thing but  that  she  wanted  him  never  to  let  her  go; 
wanted  his  lips  on  hers,  so  that  she  might  feel  his 
spirit  pass,  away  from  what  was  haunting  it,  into 
hers,  never  to  escape.  But  his  lips  did  not  come  to 
hers.  They  stayed  drawn  back,  trembling,  hungry- 
looking,  just  above  her  lips.  And  she  whispered: 

"Kiss  me!" 

She  felt  him  shudder  in  her  arms,  saw  his  eyes 
darken,  his  lips  quiver  and  quiver,  as  if  he  wanted 
them  to.  but  they  would  not.  What  was  it?  Oh, 
what  was  it?  Wasn't  he  going  to  kiss  her — not  to 
kiss  her?  And  while  in  that  unnatural  pause  they 
stood,  their  heads  bent  back  among  the  moongleams 
and  those  willow  shadows,  there  passed  through 
Nedda  such  strange  trouble  as  she  had  never  known. 
Not  kiss  her!  Not  kiss  her!  Why  didn't  he? 
When  in  her  blood  and  in  the  night  all  round,  in  the 
feel  of  his  arms,  the  sight  of  his  hungry  lips,  was 
something  unknown,  wonderful,  terrifying,  sweet! 
And  she  wailed  out: 

"I  want  you — I  don't  care — I  want  you!"  She 
felt  him  sway,  reel,  and  clutch  her  as  if  he  were  going 
to  fall,  and  all  other  feeling  vanished  in  the  instinct 
of  the  nurse  she  had  already  been  to  him.  He  was 
ill  again !  Yes,  he  was  ill !  And  she  said: 


THE  FREELANDS  391 

"Derek— don't!  It's  all  right.  Let's  walk  on 
quietly!" 

She  got  his  arm  tightly  in  hers  and  drew  him  along 
toward  home.  By  the  jerking  of  that  arm,  the 
taut  look  on  his  face,  she  could  feel  that  he  did  not 
know  from  step  to  step  whether  he  could  stay  up- 
right. But  she  herself  was  steady  and  calm  enough, 
bent  on  keeping  emotion  away,  and  somehow  getting 
him  back  along  the  river-path,  abandoned  now  to  the 
moon  and  the  bright,  still  spaces  of  the  night  and 
the  slow-moving,  whitened  water.  Why  had  she 
not  felt  from  the  first  that  he  was  overwrought  and 
only  fit  for  bed? 

Thus,  very  slowly,  they  made  their  way  up  by  the 
factory  again  into  the  lane  by  the.  church  magnate's 
garden,  under  the  branches  of  the  sycamores,  past 
the  same  white-faced  old  house  at.  the  corner,  to  the 
high  street  where  some  few  people  were  still  abroad. 

At  the  front  door  of  the  hotel  stood  Felix,  looking 
at  his  watch,  disconsolate  as  an  old  hen.  To  her 
great  relief  he  went  in  quickly  when  he  saw  them 
coming.  She  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  talk  and 
explanation.  The  one  thing  was  to  get  Derek  to 
bed.  Ah1  the  time  he  had  gone  along  with  that  taut 
face;  and  now,  when  he  sat  down  on  the  shiny  sofa 
in  the  little  bedroom,  he  shivered  so  violently  that 
his  teeth  chattered.  She  rang  for  a  hot  bottle  and 
brandy  and  hot  water.  When  he  had  drunk  he 
certainly  shivered  less,  professed  himself  all  right,  and 
would  not  let  her  stay.  She  dared  not  ask,  but  it 
did  seem  as  if  the  physical  collapse' had  driven  away, 


392  THE  FREELANDS 

for  the  time  at  all  events,  that  ghostly  visitor,  and, 
touching  his  forehead  with  her  lips — very  motherly — 
so  that  he  looked  up  and  smiled  at  her — she  said  in  a 
matter-of-fact  voice: 

"Til  come  back  after  a  bit  and  tuck  you  up/'  and 
went  out. 

Felix  was  waiting  in  the  hall,  at  a  little  table  on 
which  stood  a  bowl  of  bread  and  milk.  He  took  the 
cover  off  it  for  her  without  a  word.  And  while  she 
supped  he  kept  glancing  at  her,  trying  to  make  up 
his  mind  to  words.  But  her  face  was  sealed.  And 
all  he  said  was: 

"Your  uncle's  gone  to  Becket  for  the  night.  I've 
got  you  a  room  next  mine,  and  a  tooth-brush,  and 
some  sort  of  comb.  I  hope  you'll  be  able  to  manage, 
my  child." 

Nedda  left  him  at  the  door  of  his  room  and  went 
into  her  own.  After  waiting  there  ten  minutes  she 
stole  out  again.  It  was  all  quiet,  and  she  went  reso- 
lutely back  down  the  stairs.  She  did  not  care  who 
saw  her  or  what  they  thought.  Probably  they  took 
her  for  Derek's  sister;  but  even  if  they  didn't  she 
would  not  have  cared.  It  was  past  eleven,  the 
light  nearly  out,  and  the  hall  in  the  condition  of 
such  places  that  await  a  morning's  renovation.  His 
corridor,  too,  was  quite  dark.  She  opened  the  door 
without  sound  and  listened,  till  his  voice  said  softly: 

"AH  right,  little  angel;  I'm  not  asleep." 

And  by  a  glimmer  of  moonlight,  through  curtains 
designed  to  keep  out  nothing,  she  stole  up  to  the  bed. 
She  could  just  see  his  face,  and  eyes  looking  up  at  her 


THE  FREELANDS  393 

with  a  sort  of  adoration.  She  put  her  hand  on  his 
forehead  and  whispered:  "Are  you  comfy?" 

He  murmured  back:  "Yes,  quite  comfy." 

Kneeling  down,  she  laid  her  face  beside  his  on  the 
pillow.  She  could  not  help  doing  that;  it  made 
everything  seem  holy,  cuddley,  warm.  His  lips 
touched  her  nose.  Her  eyes,  for  just  that  instant, 
looked  up  into  his,  that  were  very  dark  and  soft; 
then  she  got  up. 

"Would  you  like  me  to  stay  till  you're  asleep?" 

"Yes;  forever.  But  I  shouldn't  exactly  sleep. 
Would  you?" 

In  the  darkness  Nedda  vehemently  shook  her  head. 
Sleep !  No !  She  would  not  sleep ! 

"Good  night,  then!" 

"Good  night,  little  dark  angel!" 

"Good  night!"  With  that  last  whisper  she 
slipped  back  to  the  door  and  noiselessly  away. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

IT  was  long  before  she  closed  her  eyes,  spending 
the  hours  in  fancy  where  still  less  she  would  have 
slept.  But  when  she  did  drop  off  she  dreamed  that 
he  and  she  were  alone  upon  a  star,  where  all  the 
trees  were  white,  the  water,  grass,  birds,  everything, 
white,  and  they  were  walking  arm  in  arm,  among 
white  flowers.  And  just  as  she  had  stooped  to  pick 
one — it  was  no  flower,  but — Tryst's  white-banded 
face !  She  woke  with  a  little  cry. 

She  was  dressed  by  eight  and  went  at  once  to 
Derek's  room.  There  was  no  answer  to  her  knock, 
and  in  a  flutter  of  fear  she  opened  the  door.  He  had 
gone — packed,  and  gone.  She  ran  back  to  the  hall. 
There  was  a  note  for  her  in  the  office,  and  she  took 
it  out  of  sight  to  read.  It  said: 

"He  came  back  this  morning.  I'm  going  home  by  the 
first  train.  He  seems  to  want  me  to  do  something. 

"DEREK." 

Came  back !  That  thing — that  gray  thing  that 
she,  too,  had  seemed  to  see  for  a  moment  in  the 
fields  beside  the  river !  And  he  was  suffering  again 
as  he  had  suffered  yesterday!  It  was  awful.  She 
waited  miserably  till  her  father  came  down.  To 
find  that  he,  too,  knew  of  this  trouble  was  some 

394 


THE  FREELANDS  395 

relief.  He  made  no  objection  when  she  begged  that 
they  should  follow  on  to  Joyfields.  Directly  after 
breakfast  they  set  out.  Once  on  her  way  to  Derek 
again,  she  did  not  feel  so  frightened.  But  in  the 
train  she  sat  very  still,  gazing  at  her  lap,  and  only 
once  glanced  up  from  under  those  long  lashes. 

"Can  you  understand  it,  Dad?" 

Felix,  not  much  happier  than  she,  answered: 

"The  man  had  something  queer  about  him.  Be- 
sides Derek's  been  ill,  don't  forget  that.  But  it's 
too  bad  for  you,  Nedda.  I  don't  like  it;  I  don't  like 
it." 

"I  can't  be  parted  from  him,  Dad.  That's  im- 
possible." 

Felix  was  silenced  by  the  vigor  of  those  words. 

"His  mother  can  help,  perhaps,"  he  said. 

Ah !  If  his  mother  would  help — send  him  away 
from  the  laborers,  and  all  this ! 

Up  from  the  station  they  took  the  field  paths, 
which  cut  off  quite  a  mile.  The  grass  and  woods 
were  shining  brightly,  peacefully  in  the  sun;  it 
seemed  incredible  that  there  should  be  heartburnings 
about  a  land  so  smiling,  that  wrongs  and  miseries 
should  haunt  those  who  lived  and  worked  in  these 
bright  fields.  Surely  in  this  earthly  paradise  the 
dwellers  were  enviable,  well-nourished  souls,  sleek 
and  happy  as  the  pied  cattle  that  lifted  their  in- 
quisitive muzzles !  Nedda  tried  to  stroke  the  nose 
of  one — grayish,  blunt,  moist.  But  the  creature 
backed  away  from  her  hand,  snuffling,  and  its  cyni- 
cal, soft  eyes  with  chestnut  lashes  seemed  warning 


396  THE  FREELANDS 

the  girl  that  she  belonged  to  the  breed  that  might  be 
trusted  to  annoy. 

In  the  last  fields  before  the  Joyfields  crossroads 
they  came  up  with  a  little,  square,  tow-headed  man, 
without  coat  or  cap,  who  had  just  driven  some 
cattle  in  and  was  returning  with  his  dog,  at  a  l  dot- 
here  dot-there '  walk,  as  though  still  driving  them. 
He  gave  them  a  look  rather  like  that  of  the  bullock 
Nedda  had  tried  to  stroke.  She  knew  he  must  be 
one  of  the  Malloring  men,  and  longed  to  ask  him 
questions;  but  he,  too,  looked  shy  and  distrustful, 
as  if  he  suspected  that  they  wanted  something  out 
of  him.  She  summoned  up  courage,  however,  to 
say:  "Did  you  see  about  poor  Bob  Tryst ?" 

"I  'eard  tell.  'E  didn'  like  prison.  They  say 
prison  takes  the  'eart  out  of  you.  'E  didn'  think  o' 
that. "  And  the  smile  that  twisted  the  little  man's 
lips  seemed  to  Nedda  strange  and  cruel,  as  if  he  ac- 
tually found  pleasure  in  the  fate  of  his  fellow.  All 
she  could  find  to  answer  was: 

"Is  that  a  good  dog?" 

The  little  man  looked  down  at  the  dog  trotting 
alongside  with  drooped  tail,  and  shook  his  head: 

"  'E's  no  good  wi'  beasts — won't  touch  'em!" 
Then,  looking  up  sidelong,  he  added  surprisingly: 

"Mast'  Freeland  'e  got  a  crack  on  the  head, 
though ! "  Again  there  was  that  satisfied  resent- 
ment in  his  voice  and  the  little  smile  twisting  his 
lips.  Nedda  felt  more  lost  than  ever. 

They  parted  at  the  crossroads  and  saw  him  looking 
back  at  them  as  they  went  up  the  steps  to  the  wicket 


THE  FREELANDS  397 

gate.  Amongst  a  patch  of  early  sunflowers,  Tod, 
in  shirt  and  trousers,  was  surrounded  by  his  dog 
and  the  three  small  Trysts,  all  apparently  engaged 
in  studying  the  biggest  of  the  sunflowers,  where  a 
peacock-butterfly  and  a  bee  were  feeding,  one  on  a 
gold  petal,  the  other  on  the  black  heart.  Nedda 
went  quickly  up  to  them  and  asked: 

"Has  Derek  come,  Uncle  Tod?" 

Tod  raised  his  eyes.  He  did  not  seem  in  the  least 
surprised  to  see  her,  as  if  his  sky  were  in  the  habit 
of  dropping  his  relatives  at  ten  in  the  morning. 

"Gone  out  again,'7  he  said. 

Nedda  made  a  sign  toward  the  children. 

"Have  you  heard,  Uncle  Tod?" 

Tod  nodded  and  his  blue  eyes,  staring  above  the 
children's  heads,  darkened. 

"Is  Granny  still  here?" 

Again  Tod  nodded. 

Leaving  Felix  in  the  garden,  Nedda  stole  up- 
stairs and  tapped  on  Frances  Freeland's  door. 

She,  whose  stoicism  permitted  her  the  one  luxury 
of  never  coming  down  to  breakfast,  had  just  made 
it  for  herself  over  a  little  spirit-lamp.  She  greeted 
Nedda  with  lifted  eyebrows. 

"Oh,  my  darling!  Where  have  you  come  from? 
You  must  have  my  nice  cocoa !  Isn't  this  the  most 
perfect  lamp  you  ever  saw?  Did  you  ever  see  such 
aflame?  Watch!" 

She  touched  the  spirit-lamp  and  what  there  was 
of  flame  died  out. 

"Now,  isn't  that  provoking?  .  It's  really  a  splen- 


395  THE  FREELANDS 

did  thing,  quite  a  new  kind.  I  mean  to  get  you  one. 
Now,  drink  your  cocoa;  it's  beautifully  hot." 

"I've  had  breakfast,  Granny." 

Frances  Freeland  gazed  at  her  doubtfully,  then, 
as  a  last  resource,  began  to  sip  the  cocoa,  of  which, 
in  truth,  she  was  badly  in  want. 

"Granny,  will  you  help  me?" 

"Of  course,  darling.    What  is  it?" 

"  I  do  so  want  Derek  to  forget  all  about  this  terrible 
business. " 

Frances  Freeland,  who  had  unscrewed  the  top  of 
a  little  canister,  answered: 

"Yes,  dear,  I  quite  agree.  I'm  sure  it's  best  for 
him.  Open  your  mouth  and  let  me  pop  in  one  of 
these  delicious  little  plasmon  biscuits.  They're 
perfect  after  travelling.  Only, "  she  added  wistfully, 
"I'm  afraid  he  won't  pay  any  attention  to  me." 

"No,  but  you  could  speak  to  Aunt  Kirs  teen;  it's 
for  her  to  stop  him. " 

One  of  her  most  pathetic  smiles  came  over  Frances 
Freeland's  face. 

"Yes,  I  could  speak  to  her.  But,  you  see,  I  don't 
count  for  anything.  One  doesn't  when  one  gets 
old." 

" Oh,  Granny,  you  do  !  You  count  for  a  lot;  every 
one  admires  you  so.  You  always  seem  to  have  some- 
thing that — that  other  people  haven't  got.  And 
you're  not  a  bit  old  in  spirit. " 

Frances  Freeland  was  fingering  her  rings;  she 
slipped  one  off. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "it's  no  good  thinking  about 


THE  FREELANDS  399 

that,  is  it?  I've  wanted  to  give  you  this  for  ages, 
darling;  it  is  so  uncomfortable  on  my  finger.  Now, 
just  let  me  see  if  I  can  pop  it  on !" 

Nedda  recoiled. 

"Oh,  Granny!"  she  said.  "You  are— I"  and 
vanished. 

There  was  still  no  one  in  the  kitchen,  and  she  sat 
down  to  wait  for  her  aunt  to  finish  her  up-stairs 
duties. 

Kirsteen  came  down  at  last,  in  her  inevitable  blue 
dress,  betraying  her  surprise  at  this  sudden  appear- 
ance of  her  niece  only  by  a  little  quivering  of  her 
brows.  And,  trembling  with  nervousness,  Nedda 
took  her  plunge,  pouring  out  the  whole  story — of 
Derek's  letter;  their  journey  down;  her  father's 
talk  with  him;  the  visit  to  Tryst's  body;  their  walk 
by  the  river;  and  of  how  haunted  and  miserable  he 
was.  Showing  the  little  note  he  had  left  that  morn- 
ing, she  clasped  her  hands  and  said: 

"Oh,  Aunt  Kirsteen,  make  him  happy  again! 
Stop  that  awful  haunting  and  keep  him  from  all 
this!" 

Kirsteen  had  listened,  with  one  foot  on  the  hearth 
in  her  favorite  attitude.  When  the  girl  had  finished 
she  said  quietly: 

"I'm  not  a  witch,  Nedda!" 

"But  if  it  wasn't  for  you  he  would  never  have 
started.  And  now  that  poor  Tryst's  dead  he  would 
leave  it  alone.  I'm  sure  only  you  can  make  him 
lose  that  haunted  feeling. " 

Kirsteen  shook  her  head. 


THE  FREELANDS 

"Listen,  Nedda!"  she  said  slowly,  as  though 
weighing  each  word.  "I  should  like  you  to  under- 
stand. There's  a  superstition  in  this  country  that 
people  are  free.  Ever  since  I  was  a  girl  your  age 
I've  known  that  they  are  not;  no  one  is  free  here 
who  can't  pay  for  freedom.  It's  one  thing  to  see, 
another  to  feel  this  with  your  whole  being.  When, 
like  me,  you  have  an  open  wound,  which  something 
is  always  inflaming,  you  can't  wonder,  can  you, 
that  fever  escapes  into  the  air.  Derek  may  have 
caught  the  infection  of  my  fever  —  that's  all  !  But 
I  shall  never  lose  that  fever,  Nedda  —  never!" 

"But,  Aunt  Kirsteen,  this  haunting  is  dreadful. 
I  can't  bear  to  see  it.  " 

"My  dear,  Derek  is  very  highly  strung,  and  he's 
been  ill.  It's  in  my  family  to  see  things.  That'll 
go  away." 

Nedda  said  passionately: 

'*!  don't  believe  he'll  ever  lose  it  while  he  goes  on 
here,  tearing  his  heart  out.  And  they're  trying  to 
get  me  away  from  him.  I  know  they  are  !" 

Kirsteen  turned;  her  eyes  seemed  to  blaze. 

"They?  Ah  !  Yes  !  You'U  have  to  fight  if  you 
want  to  marry  a  rebel,  Nedda  !" 

Nedda  put  her  hands  to  her  forehead,  bewildered. 

"You  see,  Nedda,  rebellion  never  ceases.  It's 
not  only  against  this  or  that  injustice,  it's  against 
all  force  and  wealth  that  takes  advantage  of  its 
force  and  wealth.  That  rebellion  goes  on  forever. 
Think  well  before  you  join  in." 

Nedda  turned  away.     Of  what  use  to  tell  her  to 


T  „  ,« 


THE  FREELANDS  401 

kept  every  other  thought  paralyzed.  And  she 
pressed  her  forehead .  against  the  cross-bar  of  the 
window,  trying  to  find  better  words  to  make  her 
appeal  again.  Out  there  above  the  orchard  the 
sky  was  blue,  and  everything  light  and  gay,  as  the 
very  butterflies  that  wavered  past.  A  motor-car 
seemed  to  have  stopped  in  the  road  close  by;  its 
whirring  and  whizzing  was  clearly  audible,  mingled 
with  the  cooings  of  pigeons  and  a  robin's  song. 
And  suddenly  she  heard  her  aunt  say: 

"  You  have  your  chance,  Nedda !    Here  they  are ! " 

Nedda  turned.  There  in  the  doorway  were  her 
Uncles  John  and  Stanley  coming  in,  followed  by  her 
father  and  Uncle  Tod. 

What  did  this  mean?  What  had  they  come  for? 
And,  disturbed  to  the  heart,  she  gazed  from  one  to 
the  other.  They  had  that  curious  look  of  people 
not  quite  knowing  what  their  reception  will  be  like, 
yet  with  something  resolute,  almost  portentous,  in 
their  mien.  She  saw  John  go  up  to  her  aunt  and 
hold  out  his  hand. 

"I  dare  say  Felix  and  Nedda  have  told  you  about 
yesterday,"  he  said.  "Stanley  and  I  thought  it 
best  to  come  over."  Kirsteen  answered: 

"Tod,  will  you  tell  Mother  who's  here?" 

Then  none  of  them  seemed  to  know  quite  what  to 
say,  or  where  to  look,  till  Frances  Freeland,  her  face 
all  pleased  and  anxious,  came  in.  When  she  had 
kissed  them  they  all  sat  down.  And  Nedda,  at  the 
window,  squeezed  her  hands  tight  together  in  her  lap. 

"We've  come  about  Derek,"  John  said. 


402  THE  FREELANDS 

"Yes,"  broke  in  Stanley.  "For  goodness'  sake, 
Kirsteen,  don't  let's  have  any  more  of  this !  Just 
think  what  would  have  happened  yesterday  if  that 
poor  fellow  hadn't  providentially  gone  off  the 
hooks!" 

"Providentially!" 

"Well,  it  was.  You  see  to  what  lengths  Derek 
was  prepared  to  go.  Hang  it  all!  We  shouldn't 
have  been  exactly  proud  of  a  felon  in  the  family." 

Frances  Freeland,  who  had  been  lacing  and  un- 
lacing her  fingers,  suddenly  fixed  her  eyes  on  Kirsteen. 

"I  don't  understand  very  well,  darling,  but  I  am 
sure  that  whatever  dear  John  says  will  be  wise  and 
right.  You  must  remember  that  he  is  the  eldest 
and  has  a  great  deal  of  experience." 

Kirsteen  bent  her  head.  If  there  was  irony  in  the 
gesture,  it  was  not  perceived  by  Frances  Freeland. 

"It  can't  be  right  for  dear  Derek,  or  any  gentle- 
man, to  go  against  the  law  of  the  land  or  be  mixed 
up  with  wrong-doing  in  any  way.  I  haven't  said 
anything,  but  I  have  felt  it  very  much.  Because— 
it's  all  been  not  quite  nice,  has  it?" 

Nedda  saw  her  father  wince.  Then  Stanley 
broke  in  again: 

"Now  that  the  whole  thing's  done  with,  do,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  let's  have  a  little  peace ! " 

At  that  moment  her  aunt's  face  seemed  wonderful 
to  Nedda;  so  quiet,  yet  so  burningly  alive. 

"Peace !  There  is  no  peace  in  this  world.  There 
is  death,  but  no  peace!"  And,  moving  nearer  to 
Tod,  she  rested  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  looking,  as 


THE  FREELANDS  403 

it  seemed  to  Nedda,  at  something  far  away,  till 
John  said: 

" That's  hardly  the  point,  is  it?  We  should  be 
awfully  glad  to  know  that  there'll  be  no  more  trouble. 
All  this  has  been  very  worrying.  And  now  the 
cause  seems  to  be — removed." 

There  was  always  a  touch  of  finality  in  John's 
voice.  Nedda  saw  that  all  had  turned  to  Kirsteen 
for  her  answer. 

"If  those  up  and  down  the  land  who  profess  belief 
in  liberty  will  cease  to  filch  from  the  helpless  the 
very  crust  of  it,  the  cause  will  be  removed. " 

"Which  is  to  say — never!" 

At  those  words  from  Felix,  Frances  Freeland, 
gazing  first  at  him  and  then  at  Kirsteen,  said  in  a 
pained  voice: 

"I  don't  think  you  ought  to  talk  like  that,  Kirsteen, 
dear.  Nobody  who's  at  all  nice  means  to  be  un- 
kind. We're  all  forgetful  sometimes.  I  know  I  often 
forget  to  be  sympathetic.  It  vexes  me  dreadfully ! " 

"Mother,  don't  defend  tyranny!" 

"I'm  sure  it's  often  from  the  best  motives,  dear." 

"So  is  rebellion." 

"Well,  I  don't  understand  about  that,  darling. 
But  I  do  think,  with  dear  John,  it's  a  great  pity. 
It  will  be  a  dreadful  drawback  to  Derek  if  he  has  to 
look  back  on  something  that  he  regrets  when  he's 
older.  It's  always  best  to  smile  and  try  to  look  on 
the  bright  side  of  things  and  not  be  grumbly- 
grumbly !" 

After   that   little   speech   of   Frances   Freeland's 


404  THE  FREELANDS 

there  was  a  silence  that  Nedda  thought  would  last 
forever,  till  her  aunt,  pressing  close  to  Tod's  shoulder, 
spoke. 

"You  want  me  to  stop  Derek.  I  tell  you  all  what 
I've  just  told  Nedda.  I  don't  attempt  to  control 
Derek;  I  never  have.  For  myself,  when  I  see  a  thing 
I  hate  I  can't  help  fighting  against  it.  I  shall  never 
be  able  to  help  that.  I  understand  how  you  must 
dislike  all  this;  I  know  it  must  be  painful  to  you, 
Mother.  But  while  there  is  tyranny  in  this  land,  to 
laborers,  women,  animals,  anything  weak  and  help- 
less, so  long  will  there  be  rebellion  against  it,  and 
things  will  happen  that  will  disturb  you." 

Again  Nedda  saw  her  father  wince.  But  Frances 
Freeland,  bending  forward,  fixed  her  eyes  piercingly 
on  Kirsteen's  neck,  as  if  she  were  noticing  something 
there  more  important  than  that  about  tyranny ! 

Then  John  said  very  gravely: 

"You  seem  to  think  that  we  approve  of  such 
things  being  done  to  the  helpless!" 

"I  know  that  you  disapprove. " 

"With  the  masterly  inactivity,"  Felix  said  sud- 
denly, in  a  voice  more  bitter  than  Nedda  had  ever 
heard  from  him,  "of  authority,  money,  culture,  and 
philosophy.  With  the  disapproval  that  lifts  no 
finger — winking  at  tyrannies  lest  worse  befall  us. 
Yes,  we — brethren — we — and  so  we  shall  go  on 
doing.  Quite  right,  Kirs  teen!" 

"No.     The  world  is  changing,  Felix,  changing!" 

But  Nedda  had  started  up.  There  at  the  door 
was  Derek. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

DEREK,  who  had  slept  the  sleep  of  the  dead,  hav- 
ing had  none  for  two  nights,  woke  thinking  of  Nedda 
hovering  above  him  in  the  dark;  of  her  face  laid 
down  beside  him  on  the  pillow.  And  then,  suddenly, 
up  started  that  thing,  and  stood  there,  haunting  him ! 
Why  did  it  come  ?  What  did  it  want  of  him  ?  After 
writing  the  little  note  to  Nedda,  he  hurried  to  the 
station  and  found  a  train  about  to  start.  To  see 
and  talk  with  the  laborers;  to  do  something,  any- 
thing to  prove  that  this  tragic  companion  had  no 
real  existence !  He  went  first  to  the  Gaunts'  cot- 
tage. The  door,  there,  was  opened  by  the  rogue- 
girl,  comely  and  robust  as  ever,  in  a  linen  frock,  with 
her  sleeves  rolled  up,  and  smiling  broadly  at  his 
astonishment. 

" Don't  be  afraid,  Mr.  Derek;  I'm  only  here  for 
the  week-end,  just  to  tiddy  up  a  bit.  'Tis  all  right 
hi  London.  I  wouldn't  come  back  here,  I  wouldn't 
—not  if  you  was  to  give  me—  "  and  she  pouted  her 
red  lips. 

"  Where's  your  father,  Wilmet?" 

"Over  in  Willey's  Copse  cuttin'  stakes.  I  hear 
you've  been  ill,  Mr.  Derek.  You  do  look  pale. 
Were  you  very  bad?"  And  her  eyes  opened  as 
though  the  very  thought  of  illness  was  difficult  for 

405 


406  THE  FREELANDS 

her  to  grasp.  "I  saw  your  young  lady  up  in  Lon- 
don. She's  very  pretty.  Wish  you  happiness,  Mr. 
Derek.  Grandfather,  here's  Mr.  Derek!" 

The  face  of  old  Gaunt,  carved,  cynical,  yellow,  ap- 
peared above  her  shoulder.     There  he  stood,  silent, 
giving  Derek  no  greeting.     And  with  a  sudden  mis- 
erable feeling  the  boy  said: 
.  "I'll  go  and  find  him.     Good-by,  Wilmet !" 

"Good-by,  Mr.  Derek.  'Tis  quiet  enough  here 
now;  there's  changes." 

Her  rogue  face  twinkled  again,  and,  turning  her 
chin,  she  rubbed  it  on  her  plump  shoulder,  as  might 
a  heifer,  while  from  behind  her  Grandfather  Gaunt's 
face  looked  out  with  a  faint,  sardonic  grin. 

Derek,  hurrying  on  to  Willey's  Copse,  caught 
sight,  along  a  far  hedge,  of  the  big  dark  laborer, 
Tulley,  who  had  been  his  chief  lieutenant  in  the 
fighting;  but,  whether  the  man  heard  his  hail  or  no, 
he  continued  along  the  hedgeside  without  response 
and  vanished  over  a  stile.  The  field  dipped  sharply 
to  a  stream,  and  at  the  crossing  Derek  came  suddenly 
on  the  little  ' dot-here  dot-there'  cowherd,  who,  at 
Derek's  greeting,  gave  him  an  abrupt  "Good  day!" 
and  went  on  with  his  occupation  of  mending  a 
hurdle.  Again  that  miserable  feeling  beset  the  boy, 
and  he  hastened  on.  A  sound  of  chopping  guided 
him.  Near  the  edge  of  the  coppice  Tom  Gaunt  was 
lopping  at  some  bushes.  At  sight  of  Derek  he 
stopped  and  stood  waiting,  his  loquacious  face  ex- 
pressionless, his  little,  hard  eye  cocked. 

"  Good  morning,  Tom.     It's  ages  since  I  saw  you. " 


THE  FREELANDS  407 

"Ah,  'tis  a  proper  long  time !    You  'ad  a  knock. " 

Derek  winced;  it  was  said  as  if  he  had  been  dis- 
abled in  an  affair  in  which  Gaunt  had  neither  part 
nor  parcel.  Then,  with  a  great  effort,  the  boy 
brought  out  his  question: 

"You've  heard  about  poor  Bob?" 

"Yaas;  'tis  the  end  of  him." 

Some  meaning  behind  those  words,  the  unsmiling 
twist  of  that  hard-bitten  face,  the  absence  of  the 
'sir'  that  even  Tom  Gaunt  generally  gave  him,  all 
seemed  part  of  an  attack.  And,  feeling  as  if  his 
heart  were  being  squeezed,  Derek  looked  straight 
into  his  face. 

"What's  the  matter,  Tom?" 

"Matter!  I  don'  know  as  there's  anything  the 
matter,  ezactly!" 

"What  have  I  done ?    Tell  me ! " 

Tom  Gaunt  smiled;  his  little,  gray  eyes  met  Derek's 
full. 

"'Tisn't  for  a  gentleman  to  be  held  responsible." 

"Come!"  Derek  cried  passionately.  "What  is 
it?  D'you  think  I  deserted  you,  or  what?  Speak 
out,  man ! " 

Abating  nothing  of  his  stare  and  drawl,  Gaunt 
answered : 

"Deserted?  Oh,  dear  no!  Us  can't  afford  to 
do  no  more  dyin'  for  you — that's  all !" 

"For  me!  Dying!  My  God!  D'you  think  I 
wouldn't  have — ?  Oh!  Confound  you !" 

"Aye!  Confounded  us  you  'avel  Hope  you're 
satisfied!" 


408  THE  FREELANDS 

Pale  as  death  and  quivering  all  over,  Derek  an- 
swered: 

"So  you  think  I've  just  been  frying  fish  of  my 
own?" 

Tom  Gaunt,  emitted  a  little  laugh. 

"I  think  youVe  fried  no  fish  at  all.  That's  what 
I  think.  And  no  one  else  does,  neither,  if  you  want 
to  know — except  poor  Bob.  YouVe  fried  his  fish, 
sure  enough!" 

Stung  to  the  heart,  the  boy  stood  motionless.  A 
pigeon  was  cooing;  the  sappy  scent  from  the  lopped 
bushes  filled  all  the  sun-warmed  air. 

"I  see!"  he  said.  "Thanks,  Tom;  I'm  glad  to 
know. " 

Without  moving  a  muscle,  Tom  Gaunt  answered: 

"Don't  mention  it!"  and  resumed  his  lopping. 

Derek  turned  and  walked  out  of  the  little  wood. 
But  when  he  had  put  a  field  between  him  and  the 
sound  of  Gaunt's  bill-hook,  he  lay  down  and  buried 
his  face  in  the  grass,  chewing  at  its  green  blades, 
scarce  dry  of  dew,  and  with  its  juicy  sweetness 
tasting  the  full  of  bitterness.  And  the  gray  shade 
stalked  out  again,  and  stood  there  in  the  warmth 
of  the  August  day,  with  its  scent  and  murmur  of  full 
summer,  while  the  pigeons  cooed  and  dandelion 
fluff  drifted  by.  ... 

When,  two  hours  later,  he  entered  the  kitchen 
at  home,  of  the  company  assembled  Frances  Free- 
land  alone  retained  equanimity  enough  to  put  up  her 
face  to  be  kissed. 

"I'm  so  thankful  you've  come  back  in  time  to  see 
your  uncles,  darling.  Your  Uncle  John  thinks,  and 


THE  FREELANDS  409 

we  all  agree,  that  to  encourage  those  poor  laborers 
to  do  things  which  are  not  nice  is — is — you  know 
what  I  mean,  darling ! " 

Derek  gave  a  bitter  little  laugh. 

"Criminal,  Granny!  Yes,  and  puppyish!  I've 
learned  aU  that." 

The  sound  of  his  voice  was  utterly  unlike  his  own, 
and  Kirsteen,  starting  forward,  put  her  arm  round 
.him. 

"It's  aU  right,  Mother.     They've  chucked  me." 

At  that  moment,  when  all,  save  his  mother,  wanted 
so  to  express  their  satisfaction,  Frances  Freeland 
alone  succeeded. 

"I'm  so  glad,  darling!" 

Then  John  rose  and,  holding  out  his  hand  to  his 
nephew,  said: 

"That's  the  end  of  the  trouble,  then,  Derek?" 

"Yes.  And  I  beg  your  pardon,  Uncle  John;  and 
all — Uncle  Stanley,  Uncle  Felix;  you,  Dad;  Granny. " 

They  had  all  risen  now.  The  boy's  face  gave 
them — even  John,  even  Stanley — a  choke  in  the 
throat.  Frances  Freeland  suddenly  took  their  arms 
and  went  to  the  door;  her  other  two  sons  followed. 
And  quietly  they  all  went  out. 

Derek,  who  had  stayed  perfectly  still,  staring 
past  Nedda  into  a  comer  of  the  room,  said: 

"Ask  him  what  he  wants,  Mother." 

Nedda  smothered  down  a  cry.  But  Kirsteen, 
tightening  her  clasp  of  him  and  looking  steadily  into 
that  corner,  answered: 

"Nothing,  my  boy.  He's  quite  friendly.  He 
only  wants  to  be  with  you  for  a  little." 


410  THE  FREELANDS 

"But  I  can't  do  anything  for  him." 

"He  knows  that." 

"I  wish  he  wouldn't,  Mother.  I  can't  be  more 
sorry  than  I  have  been. " 

Kirsteen's  face  quivered. 

"My  dear,  it  will  go  quite  soon.  Love  Nedda! 
See !  She  wants  you ! " 

Derek  answered  in  the  same  quiet  voice: 

"Yes,  Nedda  is  the  comfort.  Mother,  I  want 
to  go  away — away  out  of  England — right  away." 

Nedda  rushed  and  flung  her  arms  round  him. 

"I,  too,  Derek;!,  too!" 

That  evening  Felix  came  out  to  the  old  'fly,' 
waiting  to  take  him  from  Joyfields  to  Becket.  What 
a  sky!  All  over  its  pale  blue  a  far-up  wind  had 
drifted  long,  rosy  clouds,  and  through  one  of  them 
the  half -moon  peered,  of  a  cheese-green  hue;  and, 
framed  and  barred  by  the  elm-trees,  like  some  roseate, 
stained-glass  window,  the  sunset  blazed.  In  a  cor- 
ner of  the  orchard  a  little  bonfire  had  been  lighted, 
and  round  it  he  could  see  the  three  small  Trysts 
dropping  armfuls  of  leaves  and  pointing  at  the 
flames  leaping  out  of  the  smoulder.  There,  too, 
was  Tod's  big  figure,  motionless,  and  his  dog  sitting 
on  its  haunches,  with  head  poked  forward,  staring 
at  those  red  tongues  of  flame.  Kirs  teen  had  come 
with  him  to  the  wicket  gate.  He  held  her  hand  long 
in  his  own  and  pressed  it  hard.  And  while  that  blue 
figure,  turned  to  the  sunset,  was  still  visible,  he 
screwed  himself  back  to  look. 


THE  FREELANDS  411 

They  had  been  in  painful  conclave,  as  it  seemed  to 
Felix,  all  day,  coming  to  the  decision  that  those  two 
young  things  should  have  their  wish,  marry,  and 
go  out  to  New  Zealand.  The  ranch  of  Cousin  Alick 
Morton  (son  of  that  brother  of  Frances  Freeland, 
who,  absorbed  in  horses,  had  wandered  to  Australia 
and  died  in  falling  from  them)  had  extended  a  wel- 
come to  Derek.  Those  two  would  have  a  voyage  of 
happiness — see  together  the  red  sunsets  in  the  Medi- 
terranean, Pompeii,  and  the  dark  ants  of  men  swarm- 
ing in  endless  band  up  and  down  with  their  coal- 
sacks  at  Port  Said;  smell  the  cinnamon  gardens  of 
Colombo;  sit  up  on  deck  at  night  and  watch  the 
stars.  .  .  .  Who  could  grudge  it  them?  Out  there 
youth  and  energy  would  run  unchecked.  For  here 
youth  had  been  beaten ! 

On  and  on  the  old  'fly'  rumbled  between  the 
shadowy  fields.  'The  world  is  changing,  Felix — 
changing ! '  Was  that  defeat  of  youth,  then,  noth- 
ing ?  Under  the  crust  of  authority  and  wealth,  cul- 
ture and  philosophy — was  the  world  really  changing; 
was  liberty  truly  astir,  under  that  sky  in  the  west 
all  blood;  and  man  rising  at  long  last  from  his  knees 
before  the  God  of  force?  The  silent,  empty  fields 
darkened,  the  air  gathered  dewy  thickness,  and 
the  old  'fly'  rumbled  and  rolled  as  slow  as  fate. 
Cottage  lamps  were  already  lighted  for  the  evening 
meal.  No  laborer  abroad  at  this  hour !  And  Felix 
thought  of  Tryst,  the  tragic  fellow — the  moving, 
lonely  figure;  emanation  of  these  solitary  fields, 
shade  of  the  departing  land !  One  might  well  see 


412  THE  FREELANDS 

him  as  that  boy  saw  him,  silent,  dogged,  in  a  gray 
light  such  as  this  now  clinging  above  the  hedgerows 
and  the  grass ! 

The  old  'fly'  turned  into  the  Becket  drive.  It 
had  grown  dark  now,  save  for  the  half -moon;  the 
last  chafer  was  booming  by,  and  a  bat  flitting,  a 
little,  blind,  eager  bat,  through  the  quiet  trees.  He 
got  out  to  walk  the  last  few  hundred  yards.  A 
lovely  night,  silent  below  her  stars — cool  and  dark, 
spread  above  field  after  field,  wood  on  wood,  for 
hundreds  of  miles  on  every  side.  Night  covering 
his  native  land.  The  same  silence  had  reigned  out 
there,  the  same  perfume  stolen  up,  the  same  star- 
shine  fallen,  for  millions  of  years  in  the  past,  and 
would  for  millions  of  years  to  come.  Close  to  where 
the  half-moon  floated,  a  slow,  narrow,  white  cloud 
was  passing — curiously  shaped.  At  one  end  of  it 
Felix  could  see  distinctly  the  form  of  a  gleaming 
skull,  with  dark  sky  showing  through  its  eyeholes, 
cheeks,  and  mouth.  A  queer  phenomenon;  fasci- 
nating, rather  ghastly !  It  grew  sharper  in  outline, 
more  distinct.  One  of  those  sudden  shudders,  that 
seize  men  from  the  crown  of  the  head  to  the  very 
heels,  passed  down  his  back.  He  shut  his  eyes. 
And,  instead,  there  came  up  before  him  Kirsteen's 
blue-clothed  figure  turned  to  the  sunset  glow.  Ah ! 
Better  to  see  that  than  this  skull  above  the  land ! 
Better  to  believe  her  words:  'The  world  is  changing, 
Felix — changing!' 


END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

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